Forward to Time Past
by Claudia3
Summary: Response to the Time Loop Challenge on WIKTT: An accident has Hermione seriously injured. What's worse, the Time Turner she carried is broken and has her and Severus trapped in a time loop.
1. One

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is Ms Rowling's, no money is being made with this.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
A/N: This is my response to the Time Loop Challenge on WIKTT. The title of this story is borrowed from John Williams' wonderful original score of HP III.  
  
Forward to Time Past  
  
by Claudia  
  
One  
  
The day dawned bright and filled with cheerful birdsong. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, a reminder of the night's thunderstorm. The sun glistened on the black, patched pavement down in the street, and was reflected by the drops that still clung to every leave and petal. The sky was a clear blue, and even the city's air seemed cleansed, less dusty than it had been the previous evening.  
  
Hermione inhaled all this deeply as she stood by the open window, cradling yet another mug of tea. Today was her big day. She would present her Master's Thesis to the Potions Research Board at the Ministry. Nicholas Flamel University of York had already granted her the degree, but what awaited her today was its recognition by the government, which alone would grant her the permission to teach - at Hogwarts or at any other place of education. Ever since the ongoing problems caused by frequent change of personnel at Hogwarts, the new Ministry had passed a law that required minimal standards and teaching skills for the teaching personnel at any school in the wizarding world.  
  
But it was Hogwarts that she wanted to go to and teach. Dumbledore had retired a year after her graduation, and Minerva McGonagall had become Headmistress of Hogwarts with Remus Lupin as her deputy. And since Severus Snape would leave the school, Hermione was to replace him as the new Potions Mistress.  
  
Again, Hermione checked her watch, but even without doing so, she knew that it was still too early. Too early, even, to go out to the baker's around the corner to get some fresh rolls, let alone to go to the bookbindery to pick up the octavo into which her Master's Thesis had been bound. Her impatience changed into nervousness. Her appointment wasn't until late into the morning, and even with all these chores before her, and the journey to London, there was still plenty of time.  
  
She had been like this since the night before, when she had met with McGonagall and a couple of friends in a York pub for a drink or two to wish her well for her big day. Although her mentor, Severus Snape had not joined them. He probably deemed it unnecessary since her would accompany her to the Ministry this morning. He had been her mentor ever since the previous year when they had run - quite literally - into each other at the British Library (Wizarding Section). Somehow, Snape's interest in her research had overcome his usual nastiness and bad opinion of her as an odious know-it-all. In turn, her eagerness to really talk to someone outside the faculty had had her forget most of his shortcomings as her former teacher. Her thesis - then hardly ripe enough to be called so - grew with the help of his constructive criticism and help regarding her reading list. As always, he had very generously offered her the former, the latter he had used sparingly - to encourage her to work even harder. His demands had goaded on her ambition, as always, but he had done without getting personal. At times, there was even a friendly air about their discussions, which never failed to make Hermione wonder.  
  
Several months into her work, McGonagall had offered her Snape's job. It was a great relief and honour for Hermione. Research was all very well, but she had realised that studying alone did not satisfy her. A teaching position, although not her first and only idea of her career, at second gaze offered all that which she wanted from life. She was in touch with people, working with them, passing on her knowledge, and at the same time had the chance to further it. She would not have to whither away in some dusty Ministry office and had the opportunity to actually do something.  
  
Most amazing, her predecessor seemed to support the Headmistress' choice. The appointment with the Ministry was but a technicality. In a day from tomorrow, she would go on holiday for two weeks. After that, she had a week to move her belongings to Hogwarts; August she would spend at Hogwarts and hiking in the Scottish Highlands.  
  
Again, she drew the cool, clear air in deeply, enjoying the earthy smell. It was going to be a wonderful day. If only it were time to Apparate to London yet!  
  
Hermione decided to take a walk around the city walls and then treat herself to some pastry and strong coffee at one of the Muggle cafés. She loved walking around the city on the well-preserved mediaeval walls, particularly because of the view it offered of the magnificent Minster. It was simply awe-inspiring. Since it was early in the morning, she might even see its towers bathed in the morning sun, and undisturbed by the foreign crowds that populated the narrow streets of the city at this time of the year.  
  
Snape was already waiting for her when she Apparated at a safe point in an alley in Muggle London. He did not comment, however, on her punctuality which was impeccable; she had arrived early. From appearances, Snape was nervous, too, but he wouldn't let that on in her presence, of course. Hermione saw that clearly, and smiled.  
  
"Good morning, Professor."  
  
"Miss Granger." Even on a day as this, Snape could not do without his usual, curt politeness. He retrieved his watch from one of his pockets. "We are early."  
  
"Quite," Hermione nodded. "Why don't we walk to the Ministry?" They had planned on taking the Tube and walk the rest of the way, but it was only one stop from here to there.  
  
Grateful for not having to squeeze into the narrow carriage, Severus agreed. "I trust you have everything you need with you?"  
  
Hermione produced the smart octavo from her handbag and held it out for him. He merely nodded. Then they set off down the alley in a silence that Hermione would have liked to label companionable, but she couldn't. There was an almost tangible tension between them in the air, which she couldn't quite grasp.  
  
"Thank you for accompanying me," she eventually said.  
  
"It is entirely my pleasure, Miss Granger," he replied.  
  
Was that a compliment?  
  
"It is a great relief to know my successor this well, Miss Granger," he continued, "to know that my venerable Art is in good care when I leave Hogwarts."  
  
Hermione blushed, more from surprise than from modesty. She knew she was good, and she had wanted nothing more than have him tell her that she was. "Thank you, sir."  
  
Severus smiled. He had finally been able to express his feelings about her abilities. He had got to know Hermione Granger a lot better in the past twelvemonth, well enough to appreciate her intellect - and to admit to himself that she was more like him than he had cared to even think about. Next to Minerva, she was a woman whose company he enjoyed without feeling seized up or pitied or ... whatever. He enjoyed talking shop with her, and some of her thoughts were quite stimulating. It was a pity that they would not see each other often in the future. Maybe they could continue their friendship - if you could call it that - via owl post. He would send her a letter and see how things would develop from then on.  
  
He was aware of the fact that Granger had noticed his smile. He looked at her askance.  
  
She smiled in return.  
  
They stopped to cross the street. Both directions were clear.  
  
Severus noticed the car that speeded around the corner too late to grab Granger by the arm and pull her back on the pavement.  
  
There wasn't even time for a scream before the car hit her and she was hurled over the car's bonnet, against the windscreen and hence rolled off onto the street. Tyres had screeched and the thud of her body hitting the beast of metal was a sickly sound. Then again, tyres screeched as the driver realised what had happened, and fled the scene, once again at top speed. It was over - quite literally - in a flash.  
  
Severus was by her side with four long strides. She lay sprawled on the wet, tarred surface, and she was very still. Except for some angry bruises that started to bloom on her skin, and a couple of scratches she seemed unharmed. But Severus knew that appearances were deceiving in a case like this.  
  
"Miss Granger?" He touched her arm. "Hermione? Can you hear me?"  
  
When she didn't respond, he carefully scooped her up into his arms, and Apparated them to St Mungo's. 


	2. Two

Disclaimer: see One  
  
Forward to Time Past  
  
by Claudia  
  
Two  
  
Everything afterward had happened so quickly that it took even the quickest-witted of Potions Masters a while to fully understand. Severus Snape was sitting in the relatives' room on the ground floor of St Mungo's hospital and was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice the tray with refreshments hovering in front of him. Only when the cup rattled impatiently on its saucer did he help himself to some tea. Which helped a lot, as always.  
  
Maybe it would be a good idea to let the wizards at the Ministry know that Ms Granger would not make her appointment today, or anytime soon, for that matter. He forced the next mouthful of tea down. Muggle automobiles could inflict severe injuries, so much he knew. But so far, not one Healer or nurse had deemed it necessary to inform him of Ms Granger's condition. He rose and put cup and saucer on the seat of his chair. It was a calm day; he was the only wizard in the relatives' room. A couple of newspapers and magazines from the week before last lay scattered on an occasional table that occupied the centre of the room. Posters adorned the walls, warning people of the correct use and care of cauldrons (which he could only second, albeit less flippantly).  
  
Severus knew enough about Muggle automobiles to know that the way Ms Granger had lied sprawled on the tarmac was highly deceptive. Despite the absence of severe visible injuries, her spine or head could have suffered serious trauma; even though there had not been any blood.  
  
He sat down again. Maybe he should also get in touch with her parents. It was probably a good idea, though, to wait for a Healer's opinion before letting them know. He could use one of the hospital's owls. The Grangers were familiar enough with wizarding communications, as he had seen when he had tutored Ms Granger.  
  
The waiting took far too long for comfort. It must be really bad when he had to wait this long. He had enough experience - first-hand experience at that - with matters like this. He had seen many witches and wizards to St Mungo's or Madam Pomfrey to know that the longer the wait, the worse-  
  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
A Healer approached him. She had Ms Granger's bag with her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"My name is Nicola Bones. I've been looking after Ms Granger. You are not a relative, I presume?"  
  
What a name for a Healer. He looked hard at the middle-aged witch. Her chestnut hair was forced into a neat coil at the top of her head, and she had the green eyes and fair skin to match. She was wearing the usual Healer's robes. "Definitely not," he replied, more sharply than he had intended. "I was with Ms Granger when the accident happened. How is she?"  
  
Nicola Bones gestured for him to sit. "She is stable for now, and she's being taken to a ward as we speak."  
  
"What do you mean, stable for now?"  
  
"She suffered serious injuries, Professor Snape," she said. "And there have been complications. We're very much fearing for her life."  
  
Something heavy sank into the Potions Master's stomach. Something that pushed him firmly into the badly upholstered chair. "But surely there must be something you can do?"  
  
Nicola Bones looked grave. "I'm afraid that I can't tell you anything without lying to you." She held out Ms Granger's wand and bag for him. Obeying innate social rules, Severus accepted them, and put the bag on the floor absentmindedly. The wand he tucked away carefully in one of his many pockets.  
  
"What-" he didn't quite know how to say this, "is she conscious? Can I see her?"  
  
The Healer nodded, quite obviously glad that he should ask this. "We'd appreciate it very much if you could stay with her for as long as possible. She has, in fact, inquired after you."  
  
"Indeed?" Surprise made is eyebrows rise high into his forehead.  
  
Nicola Bones nodded. "Is there anyone else who needs to know about this? Her parents, or husband, perhaps?"  
  
"Her parents," he replied automatically. Ms Granger was unmarried, and he assumed she didn't have a boyfriend, either.  
  
"I'll do that for you."  
  
"I appreciate that, thank you." He rose.  
  
"She's in Ward Eight."  
  
"I'll find my way," Severus replied, still very surprised and worried and helpless.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Nicola Bones replied, and touched his arm. Then she turned on her heel and left him standing in the sunlit room, next to the mess of today's and yesterday's news.  
  
Severus picked up Hermione's rather heavy bag and checked for the wand before he went down the immaculately clean corridor that lead to the various wards. He had no idea what to expect, Bones had not exactly told him what kind of injuries Ms Granger had suffered. Besides, he didn't have very good bedside manners, and frankly, he didn't know what to do or say, either. He was simply not used to sitting with the ill and injured. Certainly, the Grangers would come soon and relieve him of his duty.  
  
He knocked before entering the small ward, of which Hermione was the only occupant. She lay in the crisp white sheets and the iron bedstead painted white that were so typical for hospitals. White bandages were wrapped around her head, right wrist and left leg, and the cuts in her face had been cleaned. When he ventured closer, he saw that her chest was heavily bandaged as well, for her shoulders and arms were covered with neither linens nor nightclothes. She must be freezing, Severus thought, who knew the cold that creeps into you when you lie in bed injured. He had experienced it often enough himself.  
  
He summoned one of the towels by the washbasin, and, having it warmed with a quick spell, covered Hermione's bare shoulders with it.  
  
This woke her.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open and she had to squint a little in the brightness. Severus moved between her and the window.  
  
"Professor," she greeted him, her voice cracking.  
  
"Ms Granger," he said curtly, and sat on the chair that slid beneath his bottom as he made to sit down. "Healer Bones has entrusted me with your wand." Asking how she felt seemed a little innocuous to him. He withdrew her wand from his pocket, and put it away carefully in the drawer of the nightstand.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.  
  
For the first time, Severus met her eyes. He found them swimming in pain. Hadn't Bones given her anything against the pain? "A Muggle automobile ran you down. It happened so quickly that I'm afraid I couldn't do anything."  
  
"Not your fault," Hermione replied. "Thank you."  
  
"I've got your bag, too," Severus continued. What else was there to say?  
  
Another pause followed.  
  
"Are you warmer?"  
  
Hermione smiled weakly. "Yes, thank you." She had been a little surprised by the display of his concern and caring for her.  
  
"Bones has informed your parents, I assume they will be here soon."  
  
Hermione slowly shook her head. "They live in Penzance. It'll be a while." She ran the tip of her tongue over her parched lips. "You don't have to stay here, though. You are a busy man."  
  
"Don't worry about me, Ms Granger," Severus said. He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher that stood on the nightstand. He also found a straw to help her drink. He didn't dare lift her head for fear of causing her more pain and injury. "Shall I get you something for the pain?"  
  
"No, I'd rather stay focussed."  
  
Severus sat down again. This time, however, he preferred silence to forced talk, and Ms Granger didn't seem to mind. He reasoned that his mere presence was comfort enough for her, strange as this was. He had hardly ever been a source of comfort to anyone. But if it was company she wanted, that he could provide. It was the least he could do.  
  
The accident had happened so quickly that he had been unable to do anything - shout or grab her by the sleeve or even shove her out of harm's way. He should have seen the automobile coming, or at least hear its motor howling and tyres screeching.  
  
"There's a book in my bag," Hermione said, "you can read it to me if you want."  
  
Glad for something to do, Severus found the book in Ms Granger's bag, careful not to look too closely at the other things she kept in it. It was the last novel by Ginevra Weasley, 'Sebekhotep's Book'. "I've heard of her novels," he said, "but I've not had the pleasure of reading her work yet."  
  
"She's brilliant," Hermione assured him, and for an instant, her eyes became clearer.  
  
Severus opened the book at the cream-coloured envelope that served as a bookmark, which he tucked between the book's back cover and his fingers.  
  
"This is for you, by the way." Hermione raised her bandaged hand and gestured at the envelope.  
  
Severus looked at the envelope, which indeed bore his name in Granger's neat, tiny writing. He raised his eyebrows. He certainly hadn't expected this.  
  
"I wanted to give it to you after the hearing," she explained.  
  
Severus put the envelope on her nightstand. "Well, then I insist that you do so when it's time for it."  
  
Sadness clouded her eyes once again. "I'd like you to have it anyway, Professor. Please, take it."  
  
He took the envelope and put it away in yet another of his many pockets. He would keep it for now, if it made her happy.  
  
He opened the book again, at the place he had marked with one of his fingers, and began to read her the story of Sebekhotep, an ancient Egyptian magician. Ms Weasley's prose proved to be beautiful and flowing, the plot and characterisation were gripping. All in all, a well written book.  
  
Barely ten pages into the narrative he noticed that her eyes were closed. He pulled his watch out of his trouser pocket. It was already late, and still the Grangers hadn't arrived. How long could it take Muggles to get from Penzance to London?  
  
A knock on the door relieved him of his wondering. He rose to meet the middle-aged couple entering the ward, followed by Nicola Bones. The Grangers were quite obviously Hermione's parents. She had inherited her father's eyes and nose, and her mother's curls and lips. They were well-dressed, probably according to the dernier cri of Muggle fashion.  
  
After Nicola Bones had introduced them, Severus discretely excused himself. Once he had closed the door, he leaned heavily against the wall. A burden he hadn't realised he'd been bearing was lifted off his shoulders - for the moment. Something made him reluctant to leave.  
  
He produced the letter from its pocket, and studied it. The envelope was made of heavy paper and was probably one of the pricier brands that Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop had on offer. Although he had exchanged many letters with Ms Granger over the course of the past year, discussing her work and talking shop in general, he had no idea as to the letter's contents. However, he had a feeling that this might be a rather more personal note. They had never ventured into that direction before, keeping their letters strictly impersonal.  
  
He broke the simple seal and pulled out its contents, a sheaf of paper matching the envelope.  
  
Dear Professor Snape,  
  
I have been wondering quite some time about the best way of thanking you for your help. But anything but a letter seemed somehow innocuous, so a letter it is.  
  
Your help has been unexpected at first, and if I seemed reluctant of accepting it - I felt very much reminded of my time as a pupil at Hogwarts - I apologise. In time, your insight and generosity in sharing your thoughts, knowledge and library became priceless and very dear to me. And I appreciated the chance you gave us both to get to know each other better. At school, you've never been my favourite teacher, and often I doubted you. For this, I am truly very sorry, for I know you now to be a very good teacher. Your demanding ways have encouraged me to work even harder and to excel at it. It has been a joy and an honour to work with you.  
  
I would also like to thank you for the trust you put in me, and for your support concerning the position as Potions Mistress at Hogwarts. I will do my best not to disappoint your expectations.  
  
All the best  
  
Yours, gratefully  
  
Hermione Granger  
  
It was a simple note of thanks that sounded very much like a farewell letter. He perused it again. The feeling of underestimating each other was mutual. After a twelvemonth of working with her a strange feeling of emptiness had appeared after the completion of her work. Like the sadness you experience when parting with a particularly well-written novel's characters.  
  
"My pleasure, Ms Granger," he said under his breath.  
  
The door opened, and out came Mr Granger, followed by Healer Bones who excused herself and hurried down the corridor. Severus returned Hermione's letter to its pocket.  
  
"Thank you for looking after my daughter, Mr Snape." The Muggle held out his hand for him to shake. Severus accepted it, but said nothing.  
  
"It's supposed to be her big day today," Granger continued.  
  
Severus wasn't sure what to say. The 'big day' was but a technicality, but he had no idea how important a technicality the Grangers thought the whole thing. "Yes, I guess so."  
  
"She's told us a lot about you, Mr Snape."  
  
"Has she?"  
  
Granger nodded.  
  
"Do not worry about your daughter's future," Severus eventually offered, for lack of anything else to say. "As soon as she is well again, the Ministry will arrange for another hearing."  
  
Granger seemed relieved, in a way.  
  
"If you'll excuse me?" Severus said after a long and uncomfortable pause. He had wanted to go to the men's room and the visitors' tearoom. He was feeling a little dizzy, since it had been several hours since he had eaten last. Granger seemed as relieved as he himself that he had ended the little scene. He might as well have Apparated back to Hogwarts for a more relaxing refreshment than the hospital's services could offer, but something kept Severus here. What, he wasn't quite sure.  
  
An hour or so later, having solved the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet, and after a couple of sandwiches and a drink, Severus found himself standing in front of Ward Eight again. But he could not move; it wouldn't be proper to disturb the family, particularly in a situation such as this. He was walking down the corridor to the relatives' room when someone called after him. When he turned, he saw it was Healer Bones.  
  
"Professor," she joined him. "Do you have a minute?"  
  
"Yes," he said. Strangely enough, he did.  
  
"The Grangers will have to leave soon to find accommodation for the night. And I'm ... I'm still a bit loath to see Ms Granger alone."  
  
Severus raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  
  
"I was wondering if you could stay just a little while longer?"  
  
"Doesn't she need some rest? You know I-" am hardly the perfect man for that job, he meant to say. Usually, he upset her, or challenged her to solve mysteries he knew wouldn't leave her alone until they were satisfactorily explained.  
  
"She seemed comfortable when her parents arrived."  
  
"Well," he began. Bones was having a point there. And he felt responsible, in a way, too. Although he knew that the accident wasn't his fault, there was still an uneasy feeling. It was similar to the experience that had had him return to Ward Eight. It was something powerful that linked him to Ms Granger. It was as if they were bound magically together.  
  
But that was utter nonsense, for very powerful magic was necessary for such a bond to be established. They had not been charmed or cursed, there had been no sipping from one goblet - and there certainly hadn't been any intimate contact, physical, emotional, or mental, between them. Nothing that went beyond a perfectly normal, ordinary student-teacher relationship. Not even in his wildest dreams. Never.  
  
And yet-  
  
"Why not?" he said eventually. He had a feeling it would further his peace of mind, as well as Ms Granger's, and Bones'.  
  
So after the Grangers had left, he found himself once again occupying the chair by Ms Granger's bed. Since the young witch was asleep once again - her parents' visit seemed to have been quite taxing on her - he had picked up the copy of Ms Weasley's Egyptian novel to catch up on the first sixty or so pages that he had missed. Without doubt, Ms Weasley was drawing partly on her holiday experiences in Egypt, but she had also carefully researched the story and thus crafted the interesting tale of an Ancient Egyptian wizard. And strangely enough, he appreciated the story. His concentration had returned.  
  
It was little wonder then that Ms Granger's soft voice made him jump in his chair as he did when she woke halfway into page forty-nine.  
  
"You're back," she said. "That's good."  
  
"How are you?" This time, he dared ask.  
  
"A little concerned," she replied.  
  
Severus almost managed a smile. "What about?"  
  
"I'm keeping you from your duties," she said. "I'll hear no end of it once I'm out of here."  
  
"Well, it'll all be in good fun, Ms Granger," Severus replied before he even realised what her remark implied. She obviously saw the end of his mentorship not as the end of their - whatever it was that they shared. Friendship he deemed too strong a word.  
  
She nodded, smiling.  
  
After a while, she asked for a drink of water and some more of 'Sebekhotep's Book'. "I hope it's not too bad," she added.  
  
"It is better than I expected," Severus said, studying the sand-coloured linen cover. "Ms Weasley certainly deserves the praise with which the reviewers are showering her."  
  
Hermione attempted a laugh. She coughed instead. "With your words the greatest of it all."  
  
Severus slipped the cream-coloured envelope between pages forty-eight and forty-nine before he resumed reading at the point at which Hermione had fallen asleep.  
  
When he paused for a sip of water a few pages later, he noticed that she had fallen asleep on him again. He closed the book and put it on the nightstand, right next to the flowers the Grangers had brought.  
  
It was only when he pulled at the sheets to keep her shoulders warm that he noticed that she had stopped breathing.  
  



	3. Three

Disclaimer: see One  
  
Forward to Time Past  
  
By Claudia  
  
Three  
  
Hermione blushed, more from surprise than from modesty. She knew she was good, and she had wanted nothing more than have him tell her that she was. "Thank you, sir."  
  
Severus smiled. He had finally been able to express his feelings about her abilities. He had got to know Hermione Granger a lot better in the past twelvemonth, well enough to appreciate her intellect - and to admit to himself that she was more like him than he had cared to even think about. Next to Minerva, she was a woman whose company he enjoyed without feeling seized up or pitied or ... whatever. He enjoyed talking shop with her, and some of her thoughts were quite stimulating. It was a pity that they would not see each other often in the future. Maybe they could continue their friendship - if you could call it that - via owl post. He would send her a letter and see how things would develop from then on.  
  
He was aware of the fact that Granger had noticed his smile. He looked at her askance.  
  
She smiled in return.  
  
They stopped to cross the street. Both directions were clear.  
  
A sudden indistinct feeling of dread rushed down his back. Severus was not certain what exactly this feeling was - anticipation, dread, a warning. But he knew this feeling could be trusted, since it had been very reliable in the olden days. Just what was he supposed to do? What was this warning about?  
  
Or was it more than a warning, was it-  
  
It was more like the strange feeling of temporal disorientation that remained after a déjà vu.  
  
Severus noticed the car that sped around the corner too late to grab Granger by the arm and pull her back on the pavement.  
  
There wasn't even time for a scream before the car hit her and she was hurled over the car's bonnet, against the windscreen and hence rolled off onto the street. Tyres had screeched and the thud of her body hitting the beast of metal was a sickly sound. Then again, tyres screeched as the driver realised what had happened, and fled the scene, once again at top speed. It was over - quite literally - in a flash.  
  
Severus was by her side with four long strides. She lay sprawled on the wet, tarred surface, and she was very still. Except for some angry bruises that started to bloom on her skin, and a couple of scratches, she seemed unharmed. But Severus knew that appearances were deceptive in a case like this.  
  
"Ms Granger?" He touched her arm. "Hermione? Can you hear me?"  
  
She opened her eyes, and managed with some effort to look at him. Surprise and a thousand questions were reflected in her glassy eyes, and when she tried to say something, Severus knew that he hadn't experienced a déjà vu. It had been foreboding, and he had had it because this had happened before.  
  
"It is all right, Ms Granger," he said. "I shall take you to St Mungo's."  
  
Ms Granger's lips closed and she sank into the darkness of oblivion.  
  
Severus took her hand - he didn't dare touch her for fear of aggravating her injuries - and Apparated them to the wizarding hospital.  
  
Other than the first time, though, he wasn't ushered out of the casualty ward. Instead, he was pushed rather rudely into a corner, and some nurse forced Ms Granger's belongings on him. But this was all quite irrelevant when he caught glimpses of her in the gaps of the live wall that the Healers had busily erected around her. She was naked except for her underwear, and her skin was very fair. He could see her feet and toes, and the Healers' hands were all over her body. The air was filled with the colours, hisses, lights, crackles, iridescence, and popping of spells, with the curt, precise pieces of information passed between the Healers and nurses.  
  
"What are you doing here?" a nurse snapped at him, waking him from his stupor. "Are you a relative?"  
  
"Absolutely not," he replied, matching her in tone.  
  
"You're supposed to wait in the relatives' room then," she instructed him and ushered him out quite rudely.  
  
Once in the relatives' room, Severus sank into an old worn out armchair. He still hadn't realised what had happened. Well, of course he knew about the accident - but this wasn't just a dream, and it wasn't quite a déjà vu either. The former you experienced for an instant only, and it was just a feeling of having done or seen something before. This was much longer than an instant. And Ms Granger's belongings were very real in his hands.  
  
So what was this if not history repeating? Had somebody hexed them? Whatever it was obviously only affected Ms Granger and himself; otherwise the Healers would have commented on their appearance in the casualty ward. Madam Bones would have, at least.  
  
He folded Ms Granger's robes and put them on the seat next to him. Again, he was the only person in the relatives' room.  
  
Again.  
  
So he was already thinking along the lines of ... whatever his - their - situation was.  
  
He looked at her book bag resting on his lap, and he felt an urge to go through her things so as to find an explanation. Or at least the semantics that described the situation properly. Then again, why would he find the answer to all his questions in Ms Granger's bag of all places?  
  
A cup rattled on its saucer, breaking into Severus' thoughts. It was floating in front of him on a well-laden tea tray. He helped himself to a drink.  
  
He had probably wanted to go through her things because he valued her opinion and insight so much. At times, Ms Granger had proven a completely different approach to her work and problems than he had, but it had turned out that the two of them worked better together because of this.  
  
He sipped at his tea, lost in thoughts.  
  
His memories were clearing up somewhat as he relaxed. The images of Ms Granger in a state of dishabille were still vivid in his memory, but he didn't derive pleasure from them. She had been so vulnerable, he realised, and there had been nothing he could do. The images had touched him, because he had never seen her like this, injured and-  
  
Dying.  
  
He had seen her die.  
  
That was the last memory he had before finding himself in the London street again, thinking that he had been there before. And he had. And the accident had left Ms Granger fatally injured.  
  
A cold spread within him that he had experienced only very rarely. Ms Granger had died before his very eyes, and he had stood by, doing nothing. Just as he could not do anything, something, to prevent the accident.  
  
Severus closed his eyes.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
A female voice broke into his thoughts, whatever they were at that moment. He himself couldn't tell, for his discovery made everything even more foggier.  
  
"Yes?" He rose, teacup still in hand.  
  
"Ms Granger is being transferred to her ward now. I'm afraid to tell you that she has suffered severe injury."  
  
Severus recognised the Healer now. It was Bones. He nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry. I ought to introduce myself. My name is Nicola Bones," she said, proffering her right hand. Absentmindedly, Severus grasped it firmly.  
  
"Ms Granger has asked for you," Bones continued. "Is there anyone else who needs to know about this?"  
  
"I'll talk to her first, if you don't mind," Severus replied.  
  
Bones looked at him hard. "All right," she said eventually. Never mind her opinion of them.  
  
The ward was the same. The white-painted bed, the crisp linen, and muted light outside the window. Ms Granger sported the same bandages, and again, her shoulders were bare. Severus warmed a towel with a charm and covered her shoulders.  
  
"Thank you, Professor," Ms Granger said softly.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" he asked. Sliding towards him from its corner, the chair scraped its legs over the polished wooden floor and stopped for him to sit.  
  
"What happened?" she asked. She turned her head slowly to look at him. Her eyes were glassy with pain. He winced inwardly. Why that foolish Gryffindor bravery?  
  
"A car hit you."  
  
"Again," she pointed out.  
  
"Apparently so, yes," Severus said.  
  
She moaned.  
  
"Let me get you something for the pain, Ms Granger," he said. It was hard to see her like this. Physical pain was something he could remedy quickly enough. He had been in a situation like this often enough himself to know-  
  
No, he had never been in a situation like this. Whatever it was.  
  
"Please listen to me, Professor," she said softly, but firmly enough to catch his attention.  
  
"I'm listening," he said. Leaning forward a bit, he supported himself with his hand on the edge of the mattress. He almost jumped when he felt his hand covered by hers. It was a gentle touch, but it was powerful enough to keep him where he was. "I'm here, Ms Granger."  
  
She attempted a smile. "Please don't let them call my parents." Her fingers were light on his. He tried hard not to enjoy it, but it was difficult. He mustn't do this, not in a situation as this.  
  
"Very well," he agreed. She must have her reasons.  
  
"Professor McGonagall gave me the Headmaster's old Time Turner," she continued slowly. It was obviously very difficult for her to speak. Severus filled the glass on her bedside table with the water provided in a pitcher, and let her drink some with a straw.  
  
"I think it's broken," she said. "It's in my bag. In an envelope."  
  
Severus picked up the bag he had put next to her bed earlier. "They entrusted me with your belongings, Ms Granger," he informed her, and to her great relief, he noticed. He found the envelope quickly enough. It had been trapped between two books, and when he opened the flap, sand trickled out of it, and tiny bits of glass.  
  
"You are right."  
  
So this was the cause of their situation. He had read once that a shattered Time Turner could cause a time loop, but he had always thought that such a time loop only affected the space in its immediate proximity. But this was very different. It affected the two of them, although Ms Granger had been carrying the Time Turner.  
  
"It's a time loop," Ms Granger said. "Isn't it?"  
  
Surprised, Severus nodded. "And we are both in it."  
  
"I'm sorry for that."  
  
"Don't be, Ms Granger," he said.  
  
A knock on the door interrupted them, and an instant later, Madam Bones slipped into the room. "I just wanted to see how you're doing, Ms Granger."  
  
Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm fine."  
  
"Is there anything you need? Shall I owl somebody for you?" Bones asked.  
  
"No, thank you," Ms Granger replied.  
  
Bones frowned.  
  
"Ms Granger's parents are currently abroad, on holiday," Severus told her. "I think she would like a potion for the pain," Severus continued.  
  
"No, I-" Hermione protested weakly.  
  
He shot her a sharp glance. It told her of false Gryffindor strength. And of his worry.  
  
"I'll bring something as soon as possible," Bones promised. "Just let me know if you need anything else."  
  
"We will, thank you," Severus said. Bones left.  
  
Severus sat down again. He drew his wand and cleaned up the mess the broken Time Turner had made on the crisp white sheets.  
  
"Thanks," Hermione said. Again, she touched his hand. Severus managed a small smile. "I don't want my parents to see me like this again," she explained. "If this is really a time loop - it's bad enough as it is."  
  
Severus nodded. He had a feeling that it was a time loop that would end in her death time and again. He tried hard not to dwell on this particular thought too long. "We will find a way out of this."  
  
Hermione nodded, and she managed to press her hand down onto his a bit.  
  
Again, a warmth long lost filled the Potions Master.  
  
"You don't have to stay here all the time," she said after a little while.  
  
"I am aware of that Ms Granger," Severus replied. But the truth was that he didn't have anywhere else to go. It was a theory that still needed testing, but if his limited knowledge of Time didn't fail him, he was quite unable just to leave. He and Ms Granger had been joined magically by the accident. Even if he could leave her, he was bound to return to her sooner or later; and if he could leave her the question of how far he could go remained. He decided to explore this theory later, when she was asleep.  
  
"Please, sir," she began. "I don't-"  
  
Just then, the door swung open again and Madam Bones hurried in. She had barely left them time enough to register her knocking. A simple goblet was in her hands, the long-awaited painkiller. "Ms Granger ought to get some rest now," Bones advised. "The potion will make her sleepy anyway." Severus stood, making place for the redhead by Ms Granger's bed.  
  
After Bones had administered the draught, she asked Severus to join her in the hall.  
  
Yet it was Severus who started the conversation. "Why do I get the impression that my presence is disapproved of?"  
  
Bones had the grace not to blush. "Well," she began, rather feebly so, as Severus noted.  
  
"Madam Bones, with all due respect," he began in a soft voice that never failed to get the attention of his audience. "Ms Granger's and mine relationship is of a purely professional nature. There is nothing going on between the two of us that warrants being frowned upon. Ms Granger's parents are currently unavailable as they are on a cruise to Norway, and she has asked me to stay with her. I'm here for no other reason than the respect of her wishes."  
  
His voice and the intense gaze he gave her seemed to convince her. "Of course, Professor." If there had been any convincing necessary at all. She seemed as though she had never assumed any such thing.  
  
"Now, what is it you wanted to discuss with me?" Severus asked, in a more friendly if still cool tone.  
  
"I just wanted to let you know that I found your latest work for The Tempest very enlightening," Bones said. "I'm sure that in the long run it will change the approach to the problem."  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows. So his feelings had been misleading. It was ... embarrassing, even more so because of the praise he had just received. "Well," he began.  
  
"Perhaps we could arrange for a more detailed discussion of the topic?" Bones continued as if his little speech had never existed.  
  
"I would like that very much."  
  
"Splendid," the Healer said, genuinely pleased. "Now, if you'll excuse me?"  
  
He looked after her as she hurried down the hall, then he went back into Ms Granger's room. She met his gaze with slightly fearful eyes. "What did you talk about?"  
  
"Nothing to worry about," he said curtly. His words had the opposite of the desired effect. He should have known. So he added, "Bones asked me something regarding my article for The Tempest."  
  
"Ah," she just made.  
  
An almost uncomfortable silence ensued.  
  
"Did the potion help?"  
  
"It did," Ms Granger replied softly. "But it makes me drowsy."  
  
"Then do rest a bit," he advised. "It will do you good."  
  
"You don't have to stay," she repeated with an imploring look.  
  
This time, he nearly touched her hand, instead, he tugged a little at the wrinkle-free sheet. "I know." Hermione closed her eyes, and her features relaxed as she slowly drifted off into sleep. He rose and undid the buttons of his frock coat. It was fairly warm in the room.  
  
Another thought struck him as he contemplated the scenery outside the window. Instead of some grey and grimy courtyard or a narrow alley, he saw a garden with tall, ancient trees, gravel pathways and a fountain. Quite a few patients, nurses and visitors were walking around or sitting on benches, enjoying the bright early summer day.  
  
If only Hermione could be taken outside, but so they were trapped inside.  
  
When had he started to refer to Ms Granger by her given name?  
  
Severus turned around and looked at the witch in the white hospital bed. And it was Hermione lying there, not Ms Granger. After all that had happened, not today - or whatever today was - but ever since he had become her mentor, but particularly so towards the end of her Master's Thesis, they had gotten to know each other, and something like a professional friendship had developed between them. He wondered if formalities such as names and titles were still necessary. Probably not, when he had already started to call her Hermione in his subconscious.  
  
Severus looked at his pocket-watch. It was early in the afternoon. He decided to get a sandwich and a drink from the tearoom; Hermione's sleep seemed to be sound enough to leave her alone for a minute or so.  
  
Some time on his way back he decided that just waiting for the inevitable to happen was not the best approach to their problem. He could not just sit there and wait.  
  
When he entered Hermione's room, he woke her.  
  
"Go back to sleep," he whispered, stepping up beside the bed. "I will stay here."  
  
"You must be hungry," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Severus almost smiled, he could feel the corners of his mouth twitch. "I just had a bite."  
  
"Good," she sighed, and dropped off again.  
  
This time, she slept until late into the afternoon, and when she woke, she appeared a little bit more relaxed. Severus had no idea how long she had been awake when he looked up from his reading. He had had a feeling of being watched. Hermione's eyes looked clearer now. The potion had helped.  
  
He put away the journal he had nicked from the relatives' room, and sat on the edge of his chair. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better. May I have a drink?"  
  
He supported her head as she drank water with the straw. Her hair was very soft, he noticed, despite its frizzy look.  
  
"We'll need to keep track of how often time repeats itself," Hermione said while Severus was putting the empty glass away.  
  
"Good thinking," Severus agreed.  
  
"If you don't mind," she began, "perhaps you could read me a chapter each loop from Ginny's novel?"  
  
"It is the only thing of keeping track," Severus continued her train of thought, " because we will remember, but anything we write will be wiped out. And during the loop, my pocket-watch will serve us well, since it is probably turned back at the beginning of every loop."  
  
"You've had a lot of time to think," Hermione observed. Her tone was very apologetic. Severus decided to ignore her implication.  
  
"Why did McGonagall give you the Time Turner instead of returning it to the Ministry by owl?" he asked instead.  
  
"My best guess would be that she wanted it to get back safely."  
  
Severus snorted.  
  
"You never know what happens when this is over," she said. "Maybe you'll save me and nothing will ever happen to the Time Turner."  
  
"I'm hardly the type in shining armour, Ms Granger," Severus replied.  
  
"You are now," she insisted. "I'm afraid I won't be of much help outside the thinking department."  
  
He nodded. She was quite right, that much he had to admit.  
  
He changed topics, always good tactics. "May I take Ms Weasley's book?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Just help yourself."  
  
Again, Severus read Sebekhotep's story to her, if, however, from now on only a chapter at a time. When he had finished, he checked the table of contents. He had just finished chapter seven, and there were still eleven to go.  
  
"You have a beautiful reading voice, Professor," Hermione said.  
  
He looked at her, but didn't say anything. He smiled a little.  
  
"How long does one loop take anyway?" she asked.  
  
Severus took out his pocket watch again. "It has been almost ten hours since the accident, I think."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"It's rather difficult to have a look at your watch when your student has just been hit by a car," he pointed out.  
  
Hermione blushed. "True. Sorry."  
  
Severus pressed his lips together. Until then he had not spent many thoughts on how he would take seeing her sprawled on the ground time and again, or being hurled through the air, or the hearing the sound of-  
  
-or seeing her die time and again.  
  
His thought were interrupted by a touch. Hermione's hand was warm as she gripped the place where the Dark Mark had once been. He met her eyes. They were glassy again, but it took him a while to realise that it wasn't because of the pain but because of guilt. A rather unwarranted guilt.  
  
He covered her hand with his. "I'll be all right." He gave her an encouraging look before taking out his handkerchief and dabbing at her cheeks.  
  
It was mere minutes after Severus had last checked his watch when Hermione passed away.  
  



	4. Four

Disclaimer: see One

A/N: Thanks for your reviews, and please keep posting them; they mean a lot to me. Also, please don't feel shy to drop me "just" a short note.

Forward to Time Past

By Claudia

Four

Twelve hours.

That's how long it took for a loop to come full circle and repeat all over again. Again, Severus had been unable to do anything. When he had cried out for Hermione to be careful, all that had left his throat was a pathetic little something that sounded as if he were merely clearing his throat.

Again, the violent crash had Hermione fly across the car's bonnet and hit the ground with a sickly sound. She lay sprawled on her back like a rag doll. Her bag had landed with a heavy thud a few feet from her, little wonder that the Time-Turner was crushed between the books and whatever else Hermione carried around with her.

"Sir," she had whispered before passing out. Something else had flickered up in her eyes besides the sheer terror and pain of it all. But it had been gone too quickly for Severus to grasp and appreciate it.

Anger had risen inside him, and there had been a moment when he thought he'd have to choke from it. He had gathered her in his arms when he readied himself to Apparate.

Severus stared at his hands. He was sitting in the relatives' room again, and he had already helped himself to a cup of tea. What was worse, he wondered, having to stand by and do nothing and watch Hermione die time and again – or dying time and again. He hoped it was a relief from her pain, a cruel, perverse one, because she would have to live through it all again after—

After what? He stood and went to the window. It faced the courtyard, the entrance to the casualty ward was across the small expanse of tarmac, where he had Apparated with her in his arms. If the loop lasted twelve hours, then what happened to the other twelve hours that made up this day – or rather, days? He felt rested, come to think of it, once the rush of adrenaline had abated. And he was not hungry. Hunger came in the course of the loop, comparatively normally. Or did the loop start over again immediately after Hermione's demise? Was there no break for them at all? It would explain his lack of memory. His life would go on after Hermione's death, somehow, but there was no memory of telling Bones or catching help to resuscitate Hermione, or of his going home and having to tell Minerva. There were – thankfully – no memories of the dreams he would have in his sleep. No memory of staring into the fire and drinking to her memory.

That meant that every time they started over, it was without the events after her death.

Quite right, Severus mused, for what was left when your life ended?

Nothing, neither to her, nor to him, and there was no reason for the loop to allow for an "afterwards" for Severus. It was bad enough to watch her die.

He craned his neck to look at the patch of blue sky above the courtyard. It was clear blue, as it would be after a night of cleansing thunderstorms. The sun was powerful enough already to make the black ground steam as he sucked all wetness out of it.

He turned around. He was still alone in the room.

Why was he here? It was Hermione who had carried the Time-Turner. Why did it affect him too? They hadn't been touching at the moment of the accident, or weren't linked to each other by any other means. True, there was a delicate bond of friendship between them, but he wouldn't deem it powerful enough to warrant his presence. A perverse sense of humour that kept him mercifully oblivious of his life after her death, as if in exchange for his sitting by her side.

Again, it was Bones who talked to him about Hermione's condition, once he had explained his presence, and her parents' absence.

But what she told him afterwards truly took him by surprise.

"Ms Granger has fallen into a coma," Bones said.

Severus sat.

Until then, he hadn't included in his musing the possibility of things changing inside the loop.

Having taken a seat next to him, Bones continued. "She suffered a seizure during the examination. I'm afraid that the only thing we can do is wait."

"Isn't it ever," Severus muttered. Hermione's coma complicated matters as well as it simplified them.

"Your presence might help her, though," Bones continued.

He looked at her.

"She asked after you," she explained, "when she was still conscious."

"I shall have to leave her for an hour or two," Severus said, unwilling to argue about this. There was no leaving her, so much was clear, had been clear, in fact, since the previous loop. Since Chapter Seven.

Nicola Bones touched his arm in understanding. "Of course, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He shook his head.

Back in the ward, he repeated his little ritual of covering her naked shoulders with a warm towel. He put away her bag into the nightstand next to her bed, and with a swift flick of his wand hung her robes at a peg on the door. It had just settled there when Bones came in.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that it might help Ms Granger if you talked to her. A little. So she knows she's not alone?"

Severus sighed inwardly. He felt awkward enough as it was talking to her when she was awake, by her bedside, practically holding her hand. His bedside manners had never been very refined, quite possibly because he had spent too many an hour in a hospital. But talking to her when he couldn't be sure she was actually listening? He could have that in a classroom full of fourth years, thank you very much.

"Of course," he replied automatically.

Bones beamed at him, and disappeared.

"Well," Severus muttered, turning back to Hermione. "I shall put a theory of mine to test now, Ms Granger. I shall probably be gone for an hour."

His hand was already on the doorknob, when he added: "I will be back."

In the steamy courtyard, in the dazzling sun, he wondered where to go first. There were so many possibilities, and he hadn't given one of them priority over an other. He Disapparated.

And found himself, unsplinched, in his quarters. Nothing had changed here, everything was as it had been when he had left it. From the table by his bed he retrieved the copy of the book he had been reading yest— on the eve of Chapter Six. He would need more to read than St Mungo's had on offer, and rather different books too, if he was to entertain Hermione and himself. A chapter a day was a good idea, but it occupied hardly an hour of their time. So the slim volume disappeared into his favourite book-pocket. He added a quill and parchment, too, you never knew. Then he left his quarters for the Head Mistress' office.

The gargoyle at the foot of the revolving staircase leaped aside at the words "House Cup" – quite a password at the end of a school year – and hurried the moving steps upwards. Minerva was in, of course. Otherwise it would have made little sense to come here, but of course, Severus had known before. He knew Minerva's timetable.

"Severus," she greeted him, the 'r' in his name rolling over the tip of her tongue. "I didn't expect you back quite so soon. Did everything go all right? I was under the impression that you and Ms Granger would celebrate."

"There was an accident, Minerva."

"Oh dear!" she rose behind the desk. The usual platter of sherbet lemons had gone, and the spot Fawkes' perch had occupied was equally empty. Yet Dumbledore's presence was still felt in the rotund office, even now that his portrait was empty. Severus felt strangely let down. Not that he didn't trust Minerva, on the contrary, but Albus commanded a far more extensive knowledge of Time-Turners.

Severus explained concisely what had happened. It made little sense, because by tomorrow – or Chapter Nine, rather – he would have to explain himself again, but maybe he would discover something new, or Minerva's opinion helped.

"A time loop." She had come to sit opposite him in an armchair by the fireplace.

Severus nodded, and surrendered to the luxury of a proper armchair and the comfort of having unburdened himself of this mystery. He didn't reject responsibility, he merely sought out the advice of a wise woman. He had, however, omitted the ending of each loop.

"It affects Ms Granger and myself," he repeated, patiently, mulling it over.

"So if you returned tomorrow, you'd have to explain everything again," Minerva concluded.

"Which frankly I appreciate," Severus admitted. "I cannot understand why I am affected when it was Ms Granger who carried the Time-Turner."

"That's strange indeed."

Severus produced his watch from its pocket. Nearly an hour had gone by, and he took his promise to Hermione quite seriously. "Do you know of a book on Time-Turners in this collection?" He gestured at the books in the glass-fronted bookcases lining the walls from bottom to unfathomable, dusty, shady top.

"There is one on the shelf over there," a wizard from a portrait chimed in. He was pointing at a shelf to the left of the fireplace. "It's called _Time_. It's the best of its kind, on its topic."

"You're probably right, Oswald," Minerva agreed, pushing aside the thought that it was quite natural for him to say that; he had written the book, after all.

Severus turned around to look at Oswald the Occidental. The background of his painting was full of hour-glasses, sun-dials and grandfather clocks. He nodded at the canvas person to acknowledge his suggestion. "Would you mind if I borrowed it?"

"Not at all," Oswald said, "I have a feeling I'll get it back in no time."

"Oswald!" Minerva exclaimed, scandalised. She had opened the bookcase and summoned _Time_. It landed in Severus' arms. It was a heavy volume, beautifully bound in deer skin with red edges.

It was only then that Severus realised. "I Apparated directly to my quarters."

Minerva looked at him. Her eyes went wide behind their square spectacles.

"Might be due to the time loop," Oswald offered.

"Probably," Severus muttered.

"That must be it," Minerva agreed. The wards in and around Hogwarts were impenetrable, even now that the war was over.

Severus stood and readied himself to Apparate back to St Mungo's.

"Severus?"

He looked down into the concerned eyes of the witch in tartan robes.

"How often have you been here before?"

He smiled wanly. "It is the first time now."

"Will you bring Ms Granger here?"

Slowly, Severus nodded. "I think so, yes. Once, at least."

Minerva smiled. "Take care, Severus."

An instant later, he was back in the steamy courtyard of St Mungo's. He wasn't sure if he would take Hermione to Hogwarts at all. He had to talk about it with her first. Poppy and Minerva were as much Hermione's family as her parents, he dared say, and she hadn't wanted them to come and see her a second time. It was important that she agree to this; he certainly wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to go to Hogwarts at all. He would understand. The people at St Mungo's were strangers, and it was an entirely different story that they had to treat her again and again, because she was just a patient. But Poppy really cared for her.

He entered the ward, the heavy volume under his arm. Hermione lay there as still as she'd been when he had left her. For a moment, he wished she were merely asleep. She looked peaceful, and wherever her mind was, he hoped that she wasn't in pain.

"I am back, Ms Granger," he announced softly. He put the book on the table by the window, then he took off his frock coat, and hung it on the second peg on the door.

"My theory has proven to be sound," he continued.

Severus felt silly talking to her. He lapsed into silence and drew a chair up to her bedside. He could leave the hospital and go to Hogwarts. The loop even allowed him to Apparate directly to Hogwarts, something that was normally impossible. Yet at the same time he had experienced a feeling of urgency to return to Hermione, a feeling of uneasiness and the fear of loss. It had been very similar to the instincts he had developed during the war. Now that he was back in her ward, the feeling was gone.

Another fact was that the accident happened so quickly, that it was impossible for him to do something, anything, to save Hermione's life. Grabbing her around the middle and Disapparating with her took too long a time; there was no hope in that regard, since he couldn't even grab her by the sleeve and yank her back onto the pavement. A Portkey was likewise useless because he didn't have one on him, and again, there was too little time to create one. Yelling wasn't much use either, and he couldn't insist they take the tube as planned because the loop set in when Hermione stepped from the pavement into the street. The accident and her fatal injuries were inevitable.

Severus supported his head on his arms, propped up on his knees. What was he to do? It was maddening, this feeling of helplessness. And because of his inability to do anything, he felt responsible for her death.

He raised his head.

As if she were sleeping. They had cleaned her up and taken care of her visible injuries, and she looked peaceful for it. Too peaceful, because wherever she was seemed a better place than consciousness. Severus couldn't blame her. Nothing was sweeter than oblivion in a situation such as hers. The weightlessness you experienced, the feeling of leaving behind the shattered shell that your body had become to your soul was powerful, and tempting.

He glanced at his watch. It was early in the afternoon; as if on cue, his stomach began to rumble. He was hungry, but he didn't fancy anything special, so he might as well grab one of the tearoom's sandwiches that all tasted the same. Maybe a peach, too, or some other fruit.

"I'll be back in a minute," he heard himself saying. He smiled. Despite himself, the words had come naturally, as though he habitually spoke to comatose students.

The sandwich tasted bland, of nothing in particular, although he had picked tuna mayonnaise. Full of hope, he sank his teeth into the velvety skin of the peach, expecting the sweet yet slightly sharp juiciness to explode on his tongue, but the peach didn't titillate his palate either. He felt the velveteen skin on his tongue, and some of the juice was dribbling down his chin, and the texture of the flesh was as he remembered. It even smelled like a peach. The taste, however, wouldn't come.

This was something new.

In the previous loops, he hadn't paid the food much attention, had eaten to keep himself on his feet rather than for pleasure. Tod—this loop, however, he had fancied a peach, and the tuna sandwich, too, but they tasted of nothing. They had texture and moisture and scent, but the taste was wanting. Disgusted, disappointed, he dropped the peach onto the empty plate and stood to leave.

Back in the ward, he began to read Hermione Chapter Eight, which took him the better part of an hour. Then he dedicated his time to Oswald's book.

"I went to Hogwarts," he found himself saying as he settled down next to her bed with the book in his lap. He always sat by her side, even when using the table in the corner for support would have been so much more convenient and comfortable. "Minerva lent me a book called _Time_ by Oswald the Occidental. You might have seen his portrait in her office."

He opened the old volume and examined the index. Strangely enough, the book exuded the smell so typical for old books. Just like the peach had smelled like a peach. He furrowed his brow.

"I'm here," he said in reassurance. To whom, he wasn't quite sure.

After a while, he said, "A time loop, Oswald writes, is a rare occurrence, and the reasons for it a manifold, but it almost always includes a broken Time-Turner. Now imagine that." He went on reading for a while, before he closed the book. "It's not much of a help, I'm afraid."

Severus stood and went to gaze out of the window. Just like yesterday, the weather had cleared up after the thunderstorm, and people were out in the grounds enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, walking or just sitting on benches.

An image imposed itself on his mental eye, the image of Hermione in the casualty room, naked to the underwear. He could see her rosy toes, and sometimes a bit of lace flashed up, and he could see her face when the Healers moved around her. Her narrow knee, and the freckle on it.

Severus shook his head and turned around to the Hermione lying in bed, motionless and silent. The unbidden images had left him disorientated for an instant, followed by an intense bout of shame. Hermione was injured, he couldn't think of her like this, see her like this.

He breathed in deeply. He knew, however, that this wasn't what he was thinking it was, a misdirected feeling of attraction. It was more the dread he had been carrying around inside him, the fear of actually seeing her like this. Hermione had not been seriously injured since the incident with the basilisk. The war and its end had left her physically unharmed, almost miraculously so. And now this.

Before he knew it, he found himself brushing a lock out of her forehead. He withdrew his hand quickly, as if the touch had stung or burnt him. As if she'd wake from his fingers in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and turned away to watch the people in the garden.

After a while, he turned around abruptly, as if, again, he needed to get away from a thought, or a feeling.

"I hope you don't mind if I read you a bit from one of my books," he said softly, and settled back into his chair. "We have to keep Ms Weasley's book to keep track of the time. And if you don't like it, I can always go back to my quarters tomorrow and get another one. Or if you—" He was positively talking to her.

He studied the black linen of the book for a moment or two. It was all right to read to her, he was even beginning to enjoy it, but it was still an entirely different story to talk to her when he couldn't be sure she was listening. He had never been one to enjoy listening to his own talk.

As if on cue, and as if the Fates had decided to play a trick on him, the door opened just when Severus was opening the book, and in ambled Gilderoy Lockhart. Or what was left of him.

"Lockhart!" Severus said, very close to snarling.

"Have me met before?" Lockhart said cheerfully, a little too cheerfully, and offered Severus his hand.

"We have," Severus murmured.

"I'm afraid I can't remember you," Lockhart replied, a little wistful. It had been years since the Golden Trio had exposed him for what he was, quite conveniently by being rescued by Mr Weasley's broken wand which had Lockhart's own _Obliviate_ backfire badly.

"Oh, who is this?" Lockhart had discovered Hermione, and turned his full attention on Hermione. He stepped up next to her bed from the opposite side. When he caressed her cheek with his fingertips, Severus felt a surge of protectiveness and annoyance at his impertinence rise up inside him.

"That's no business of yours," Severus sneered. "If you could leave us alone now."

"She's Sleeping Beauty," the blond wizard with the impossibly coiffed hair whispered. It was impossible not to notice how awestruck he was. "Isn't she?" His forget-me-not blue eyes were positively beaming.

Severus was about to reply something, when he realised that Lockhart was right. She was beautiful, if in her own way. And he almost pitied the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for his childish delight at his discovery.

Just then, the door opened again, and in came a Healer Severus hadn't met.

"Ah, Gilderoy, there you are!" the Healer exclaimed in mock-annoyance. He was quite possible gladder to have found the escapee than not. He noticed Severus. "I'm sorry, sir. I hope he wasn't bothering you."

Severus' face remained impassive as he nodded. "That is all right."

Lockhart was still drooling over Hermione's prone and helpless body, smiling at her with an adoration that he once had reserved for his photographs.

"Gilderoy, come now," the Healer said, grabbing him by his lilac robes.

"This is Sleeping Beauty!" Lockhart announced to the Healer, beaming. Severus turned away. Lockhart had always been pathetic, but this was ludicrous.

"Yes, and you mustn't wake her. The Dwarves will be quite angry when they find out you disturbed her," the Healer explained as if to a two year old.

That worked. Lockhart giggled, and put his fore-finger to his lips. Then he went away on tiptoe. Pathetic, really.

"Now, where were we?" Severus mumbled as he sat down again, and picked up the book he had dropped next to Hermione's hand. He began to read.

At the end of the fourth chapter, Hermione's increasingly laboured breathing became irregular, and her hand was twitching. Severus grabbed it, knowing that she had only minutes left. "I'm here, Hermione. Don't worry, I'm here," he said, pulling the rope whose bell alerted Bones or whoever was in charge of the ward.

With his other hand, he smoothed her hair out of her forehead, and he continued to murmur soothing words until she was finally relieved of her pain and agony.


	5. Five

Disclaimer: see One  
  
A/N: The opinion Severus has about Muggle medicine is the opinion of a fictional character, and is not mine, and no offense is intended. It is only natural for a wizard like Severus to be very sceptical about everything Muggle. In real life, I have a deep respect for the work doctors do.  
There are going to be nine chapters in this story, but I'm afraid I can't tell you how long it'll be until its completion. So thanks for your patience.

Forward to Time Past

by Claudia  
  
Five  
  
"Professor?"  
  
It took Severus a moment longer to get his bearings than he was comfortable with. He had expected to find himself in the relatives' room, there to browse an old magazine he hadn't had the chance to pick up yet, and to have a soothing drink of tea. Not unlike travelling with a Portkey, the time loop left him with an uncomfortable feeling of having been hurled about by the navel, and sitting down after each new cycle was a good idea. But instead, he found himself at a window commanding the wonderful, by now familiar view over St Mungo's gardens. And the voice was Hermione's.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He turned around, confused.  
  
"Would you mind?" she asked, her voice sounding unnatural, slurred, slow, as if she had to take great pains to be articulate.  
  
Severus recovered, and wordlessly did her the favour that by now had become a ritual of some sorts. He warmed the towel and spread it over Hermione's bare shoulders. She closed her eyes in comfort at his little gesture. It was touching, he realised, how much she appreciated it. Severus squared his jaw and allowed the ghost of a smile to flit across his lips. So they were back again to this morning. He took his watch out of its pocket and consulted it. The loop has started late.  
  
"Has it?" Hermione asked.  
  
He must have said it aloud. "By one and a half hours," he replied, covering up his slip of tongue nicely.  
  
"How many …"  
  
Severus let her drink some of the water provided in a jug on her night stand. "It's only the fourth loop. You were in a coma once."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, and she smiled wanly. "I'm sorry for having left you alone."  
  
"Stop apologising," Severus said, more sharply than he had intended. "We're both in this. In fact, it was quite fortunate, so I had the chance to test a theory of mine."  
  
"Could you … have a seat please?" Hermione asked. It must be difficult for her to look up at him, prone as she was in the bed. Severus summoned the chair and sat. Hermione smiled gratefully. "I seem to remember the odd thing about yesterday, but it's all very foggy."  
  
"There is no yesterday, Her … Miss Granger, as well as there's no tomorrow," Severus said gloomily. There wasn't a real yesterday – unless you counted the day before the accident, which he had spent collecting herbs and reading – as well as there wasn't a real tomorrow – the next loop was just a repetition of the previous one, with small alterations, and a next real day seemed like a dream.  
  
Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes. "That's not very uplifting," she said eventually.  
  
He didn't reply anything.  
  
"So what is this theory of yours?"  
  
Glad for the chance her natural inquisitiveness had offered him, he tried at least to employ a neutral tone when he began: "I can go wherever I want. There are no spatial bounds to this time loop. It's very likely that I could take you to other places than St Mungo's. But," and there, he faltered. Que dire? It was a difficult, bizarre enough concept to grasp as it was. The paradoxes of time travel.  
  
"But we cannot be separated for a longer period of time," Hermione said, thus reclaiming his attention.  
  
He nodded. She was right.  
  
"That means, as long …" she interrupted herself, made a face and winced softly. She was in pain. But she would not want a potion against the pain – just as he wouldn't accept her profuse apologies. Despite himself, he touched her shoulder. It was small and a little bit bony under the fluffy towel. She surfaced again, and fixed her eyes on his. He felt a little bit uncomfortable under her gaze, but if it helped her to concentrate …  
  
"We have to stay together," she eventually finished her sentence. She licked her lips. "Where did you go?"  
  
"Hogwarts."  
  
Hermione smiled. With her good hand she touched his hand where it was still resting on her shoulder. He jumped a little. "I talked to Professor McGonagall. She lent me a book by Oswald the Occidental."  
  
"But it wasn't much help," Hermione concluded.  
  
Severus shook his head. "Unfortunately so." He withdrew his hand. It felt cold now that Hermione's wasn't covering it anymore.  
  
"You brought another book, too."  
  
It was amazing how much she remembered from her coma. If only she didn't remember Lockhart's appearance. "I liked it. It sounded good. I can't recall anything in particular, but it felt good." If only Lockhart didn't appear this time.  
  
"I thought that one chapter at a time of Sebekhotep's Book might get a bit boring," he offered, effortlessly slipping back into a more relaxed conversation with her. It was surprisingly easy, and he was very comfortable with it, too.  
  
"Your stay must have been short," Hermione observed.  
  
He looked at her hard. "It wasn't." He paused. "I Apparated directly to my quarters."  
  
Hermione stared at him. "You …?" Her voice trailed off. "Dear Gods."  
  
"Well, it's not as if that's any real danger to anyone, Hermione."  
  
Again, she fixed her eyes on him. Not because of the implications of his discovery – as long as you were trapped in a time loop whatever you did would be erased and rewound eventually – but because he had used her given name. He could see that in her eyes.  
  
"You're right," she conceded.  
  
They sat in silence again for a couple of minutes.  
  
"Take me away. Please," she said eventually. He looked at her. "Please? Se—" Again, her voice trailed off as she was unsure of how to address him now that he had changed the tenor of their relationship.  
  
He let the moment pass. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
"Just outside. We don't have to go far. I just need some fresh air," she said. And there was nothing he could oppose to this. He wrapped her into her blankets, and without further ado made her put her good arm around his neck. Then he raised her out of the bed and into his arms. She was heavier than he thought, and for a moment he staggered and her muffled shriek rang in his ears. But he found his balance soon, and Hermione helped by putting some of her weight onto his shoulders. She grabbed her wand from the bedside table and with a swift "Alohomora!" opened the door for him.  
  
The corridor opened on the hospital park, and warm air was wafting in from the open door there. Hermione smiled and was tempted to kiss him on his cheek, when a voice coming from behind them intervened.  
  
"Oi!" It was a male voice. Severus kept moving; Hermione wasn't getting any lighter, and he didn't want to put her down on anything but a bench outside.  
  
"Oi, mister! What do you think you're doing!?" The wizard's steps quickened on the polished floor boards, and soon he caught up with them.  
  
Severus glared at him. "And who are you? The gaoler?"  
  
If he had been a bird, you could have seen the wizard ruffle his feathers. "I'm in charge of the patients here."  
  
Severus ignored him and started to walk again. An instant later, they were through the door.  
  
"I need some air, that's all," Hermione explained over Severus' shoulder. Her hair was tickling his cheek.  
  
"Why didn't you open the window? You're supposed to be in bed!" the wizard protested.  
  
"No, sir," Severus replied acidly. "This young lady was supposed to survive today, and get her teaching degree."  
  
The wizard stared at them. He wasn't a Healer proper, so he couldn't draw on any authority to order the eloping patient back to bed. He probably even was a only squib, too. "She's not dying."  
  
Severus was furious, and he was certain Hermione could tell from the rapid beating of his heart alone. "What kind of a wizard are you to deny her a last wish?" He continued on his way across the terrace, quickly descended the three steps that ended in a gravel pathway leading down into the grounds. Severus put her down on a bench in the warm sunshine.  
  
"That's a wonderful spot, thank you," Hermione said, carefully putting her injured leg into a comfortable position. She was nearly finished, when the nurse returned with pillows and an additional blanket. He was glowering at them.  
  
"Healer Bones sends these to get you comfortable," he said curtly, handed Severus the bedding and turned on his heel.  
  
Having made herself comfortable with the pillows, Hermione sighed – and yawned. The little trip outside had exhausted her more than she would have guessed. "It's wonderful here. I was beginning to feel trapped in that ward."  
  
Severus merely nodded. The change of scenery had left him a tad uncomfortable, because he had gotten used to the familiarity of the room, and the feeling of security it spread. Out here, the conditions had been changed – in addition to the fact that Hermione was beginning to try the texture of his first name. "I'll get the book and something to eat."  
  
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Hermione said.  
  
"Humour me, Hermione."  
  
When he returned from his short trip to the visitors' tearoom a scant quarter of an hour later, Hermione had fallen asleep. Moving her outside had been more exhausting than either of them had anticipated. He set the tray with fruit and sandwiches on the free spot on the bench by her foot. The poor thing, he thought, watching her for a minute or two. He brushed away an errant lock that kept dancing to the slow rhythm of her breathing and that looked very much as if it was tickling her. It certainly would have tickled him. But in this case, it was a great relief to find the hair moving like this. Quite a few things had changed in this loop already – and important things they were, too, that his worry was warranted. The point of time of her last breath might be subject to that change as well.  
  
Despite the sun and his black clothing, he suddenly felt very cold, and he battled with reason whether to wake her or leave her be. But she had been so exhausted. But she might never wake.  
  
His heart constricted at that thought as it had never before since the time loop had started. He wasn't sure for how much longer he could see her die and not be able to do anything. It was simply not right that this talented young woman should survive the war just to die at a Muggle's bonnet.  
  
Severus decided to wake her as gently as he could. After a moment of hesitating, he brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek and softly whispered her name. "Hermione."  
  
Hermione woke quickly enough with a contented sigh that almost sounded like a purr. Her lips curled upward, and Severus thought he heard her whispering his name.  
  
He couldn't be sure, maybe he had just imagined it, but it was such an incentive, erotic moment – strange as it might be – that he felt a pleasant shiver course through his body which ended in his loins.  
  
"Severus?" she asked, looking at him in concern. He realised he must have dropped his mask quite uncharacteristically, and thought he caught himself wide-eyed in Hermione's liquid eyes. "Is something wrong?"  
  
Severus could have hexed himself. "No, don't worry," he tried to say as soothingly as possible. He wasn't any good at soothing, but he hoped that he sounded convincing enough. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Still a little bit tired." Her eyes fell on the food at the other end of the bench. "But the food looks delicious."  
  
He didn't reply anything. He had deliberated long whether to introduce her to this additional circumstance, but in the end had seen no reason not to tell her now, and do it gently. It was quite possible worse if she discovered it by herself. He passed her a triangular tuna sandwich and a napkin, and helped himself to a particularly spicy one with jalapenos and cottage cheese. They ate in silence, but when the hot jalapenos didn't burn up his mouth proved his theory right.  
  
"How do you like your sandwich?" he asked casually.  
  
"You tell me," she retorted.  
  
He gave her a stern look.  
  
"Oh come on," Hermione said, "you're not the type to fuss over simple food like this."  
  
Silently, he gave her the other half of his sandwich. He watched her take a bite.  
  
"Very mild jalapenos," she said, having swallowed her bite. "Or we've lost our sense of taste."  
  
"Would be interesting to find out why that is so," Severus pointed out.  
  
"It's as if The Powers That Be took away that sense to make us look at something else," Hermione reckoned.  
  
"Quite the sense of humour, too," Severus snorted. After all, as Potions Masters, their sense of smell and taste were rather essential for their work. And he couldn't imagine, truly couldn't, what The Powers That Be – as Hermione called whoever it was who held the threads of their fates – wanted them to turn their attention to.  
  
They finished their meal in silence but without the enjoyment that eating in the company of friends usually was. Severus felt a familiar heaviness settle in his limbs once he was finished. It was the sun that made him drowsy. He had never been out in the sunshine very often because of his pale skin.  
  
"You look tired," Hermione said, bending forward in her seat and touching his arm. As if on cue, he felt like yawning, and it was all he could do to hold it back. He hated it when women were right about things like this, it was so … very much like his mother had been. And he didn't need other women fussing over him like his mother had – may she rest in peace. "Gosh, you haven't slept since the accident, have you?" she suddenly realised.  
  
Neither had he been aware of the fact. "I don't sleep much," he tried to dismiss her notion that had touched him, despite everything and despite himself even.  
  
"They say people who don't dream go mad," she continued kindly.  
  
He smiled. "I could do without most of the dreams my mind comes up with."  
  
"You should try to remember the good ones. There must be good ones, too," Hermione said.  
  
She was being frightfully sweet. For once, she didn't try to hide behind the façade of the star pupil. It made him want to weave his fingers into her hair and pull her close and kiss her. Instead, he covered her hand that was still resting warmly on his arm with his own. And stroked the soft back of it with his thumb. He raised his eyes to look at her, and found her looking at him kindly, as if she wished she could do something for him.  
  
Severus was not sure if that was what he wanted.  
  
All of a sudden, he felt trapped in their closeness, and the intimacy of the moment, and it was as if it were suffocating him. It wasn't her, it was just the idea of being with someone again, or not, as he had experienced it so often. Too often. He wasn't cut out for Love from Afar. He was sick of being the secret admirer. So he'd rather stay alone.  
  
He withdrew his hand, and averted his eyes so as not to see her reaction.  
  
"Severus?" she asked. The syllables of his name came more naturally now.  
  
"I'm – what about Sebekhotep's Book?" he suggested. Anything to recover the awkwardness of the situation. She had sensed his emotional withdrawal. Anyone would have, which was good, because that was the point of it, even it was rude.  
  
"Did I say something wrong?" Hermione persisted.  
  
He looked at her. She was truly trying to understand what was going on between the two of them. "No," he said tunelessly, a little mellowed. "No, you didn't."  
  
"Then what—"  
  
"It's me, if you must know." His voice was suddenly venomous enough to make any pupil shrink back, and it was all he could do not to add something hurtful that matched the rhythm of his little sentence.  
  
"Oh."  
  
He opened the book, which he had been carrying around in his pocket, at the chapter he had read her the day before.  
  
"Chapter Eight," he began, and paused as he always would before beginning with the actual chapter.  
  
"Are you quite sure?" Hermione interrupted.  
  
"Well, you were in a coma when I read this one," Severus explained.  
  
"Then let's continue with Chapter Nine," Hermione said. "This is mind-boggling enough, so let's not make things more complicated by changing our rituals. If that's okay with you," she added.  
  
"As long as you can still follow the story," he shrugged.  
  
Again, there was that peculiar look that said something along the lines of "forget the story".  
  
He started anew: "Chapter Nine."  
  
And from then on, his exhaustion was almost forgotten as he found the rhythm and flow of the story and its sentences, but somewhere in the middle of the chapter he realised that, once again, Hermione was right; this wasn't about the story anymore, good as it was, but about keeping up a ritual. A ritual that had them spend time together without it getting too awkward, and that allowed them to keep track of the number of times the loop repeated itself. He just hoped that there were more chapters in the story than loops in this horrible, horrible day.  
  
"End of chapter," he finished eventually, and closed the book without bothering to place some sort of a bookmark in it. It would have been removed by the time the next loop started anyway.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Thank you," and again he had the feeling as if there was more she wanted to tell him.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, he was wrong this time, or rather, his feeling was right. That this time would be different than the others. But then again, why should it? Hermione had always been known to be kind and friendly, if rather bossy at times. Why would she be interested in a sorry old Potions Master like him? It was just wishful thinking, and if he wanted to keep their friendship up – for it was a that, and nothing more – he would have to stop making her responsible for his ineptness at relationships.  
  
"My pleasure," he said. It was easier than he had thought. The space around his heart felt a little wider now.  
  
"Would you mind moving under these trees?" she asked. "It's starting to get a little too hot for comfort here." Having told her to hold tight, he levitated her and the bench into the cool shade of the beech, were grass grew sparsely and the soft, brown soil of woodlands dampened the steps.  
  
"When I'm going to ask you something in a second, do you promise not to get mad at me?" she suddenly said.  
  
Severus was not sure what to make of this. A preamble like thins usually bade no good. "Yes, go ahead."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, as if this wasn't very easy for her, either. But then, he could always say no – without getting mad at her. "I want you to take me to a Muggle hospital when the loop starts over the next time."  
  
Severus breathed in sharply. A Muggle hospital? Those … butchers with their invasive methods of healing? Who cut people open to— his thoughts faltered. "Why would you want that?" he said, shock and disgust evident in his voice. It was too preposterous.  
  
"You promised," Hermione said.  
  
"I'm not mad at you. Just surprised. And scandalised."  
  
"I can see that," she said.  
  
"Why would you want to go to a Muggle hospital?" he repeated his question. The he realised, and raised his hand to stop her answering. "No, don't tell me. Your parents. They're dentists. Doctors."  
  
Hermione sighed. "It's not because of them. Not really," she said, and toyed with a crease in her blanket. "I just want to know what it is exactly that I die of."  
  
Severus didn't say anything. "And you hope that the Muggles can tell you that before you actually die?"  
  
She didn't reply at once. "I just want to see if they treat me differently for ma injuries than Nicola Bones. It's not about trust, it's … getting a second opinion."  
  
For this, Severus couldn't fault her. It was something he himself had taught her when working with potions: Always obtain a second (or even third) opinion before continuing. "Very well, then. But I can't promise you I'll manage to do it. The loop has started late this time, and so it's no longer in my hands where we go."  
  
"Yes, I know. Thanks," she said with a smile. It was both encouraging and looking for encouragement.  
  
After that they fell into easy conversation about their respective work and food and Hogwarts and life in general afterwards, and time passed quickly. They had to move back inside when Nicola Bones eventually found them under the canopy of green leaves. As it was, the fresh air had been more demanding on Hermione than either of them had reckoned. As soon as he had put her back into her back, she fell asleep.  
  
She woke shortly before it was time for her to go. "This was a lovely day," she said with a smile on her pale lips. The colour had drained out of her rather quickly, and Severus knew there wasn't much time left.  
  
He managed to smile. "Yes, it was." He was afraid. Afraid of being trapped in this loop for ever, of losing her for good, of what expected her when … he would sink into oblivion for an instant, when realising that she had died.  
  
She went peacefully this time, and her hand went limp in his grasp.  
  
There was just enough time to kiss her on the forehead before oblivion enveloped him in its strangely nondescript comfort.


	6. Six

Disclaimer: see One  
  
Forward to Time Past By Claudia  
  
Six  
  
Lockhart hadn't appeared.  
  
That was the first thing Severus realised after regaining consciousness. After that, he noticed that his surroundings weren't those of St Mungo's, but some anaemic waiting room painted white, with bogey-green-and-off-white chequered synthetic floor-tiles and Muggle vending machines humming in one corner. It was crowded and it was loud, children were hunting each other through the rows of narrow plastic chairs arranged in the small, airless room. The people were smelling, and the whole experience was quite overwhelming to a wizard. Severus withdrew his pocket-watch from his waistcoat. The loop should have started three hours ago. That was probably why he experienced a faint rumbling beginning in his stomach.  
  
"You all right, sir?" asked someone, a woman with a feverish child in her arms.  
  
Severus swallowed. "Quite all right," he murmured. The woman scrutinised him unashamedly.  
  
"You with theatre folk?" she asked.  
  
He must have looked positively scandalised, but then a little voice in the back of his head told him that that probably was the most reasonable explanation for his appearance. Not every man in this waiting room was wearing Victorian-style clothing. "Yes," he said curtly.  
  
"What's the story?"  
  
"The story?" Severus asked. He was still wondering why he kept talking to that infernal woman. "A colleague had a little accident at rehearsal," he said.  
  
"Not too bad, though, is 'e?"  
  
He stared at her. "She," he replied, "won't live to see this evening."  
  
Now it was the mother who looked scandalised, and shocked. "So sorry. 'ow can ye be so sure?"  
  
"I just know it," he said cryptically. After a pause, the woman had gone quite pale, he felt that this short exchange had left him with a strange taste in his mouth. "What's wrong with your child?"  
  
At that, the woman warmed to him quite visibly. "Oh, dunno. Runnin' a fever since yesterday mornin'. Not eatin', cryin'. Says there's pain in 'er ears."  
  
"Oh," he had a good idea of what it was that the child was ailing, but this was Muggle London, and he'd be damned rather than to meddle with that woman's affairs, no matter how nice she had been to him. "How long have you been waiting then?" he asked for want of anything else to say.  
  
The woman was just about to reply, when a stout and surly looking nurse with a clipboard and crisp apron announced his name. He got up and met the nurse at the mouth of a corridor that lead to the examination rooms. "The doctor would like to have a word with you, Mr Snape," the nurse informed him, and walked him to a room on the left.  
  
"Oh, one more thing," she said, turning around. "What is your relationship with Miss Granger?"  
  
"I'm in charge of her at the moment," Severus replied without hesitating.  
  
"Are you her father?" the nurse asked suspiciously.  
  
"No!" he nearly exclaimed. "Sweet Merlin, no. I'm her mentor. We are ... quite close."  
  
The nurse smiled sweetly at him. "Of course you are, Mr Snape. This way, please. The doctor's waiting for you." She opened a door to a nondescript room, and it was as if she had shoved him in there. It was a shared office of the doctors on duty, and it didn't have any personal touch whatsoever. Just a table with one of those Muggle machines on it, and two chairs. One of which was occupied by a doctor who wasn't older than Hermione.  
  
He stood and gestured for Severus to sit. "I'm Ms Granger's doctor," the young man said. "My name is Petersen." He spoke with a soft, German-sounding accent.  
  
Severus didn't reply anything, just waited for Petersen to continue.  
  
"Can I ask how close you are to Ms Granger?"  
  
Severus looked at him. Why kept everyone asking him this? "I am her mentor. At university. I was accompanying her to an important exam."  
  
"Ah." Obviously, this more elaborate explanation added less fuel to the flame, or the young doctor was blissfully naïve. Or just too preoccupied with what he would have to explain to this 'mentor' now. "Mr Snape, I asked because of Ms Granger's condition."  
  
"Yes?" Severus urged him on, unable to get used to the Mr in front of his name.  
  
"It is very important that Ms Granger is together with somebody who knows her well. She suffered an amnesia," Petersen explained.  
  
"Ah," was all that Severus managed. "And what about physical injuries?"  
  
Petersen looked at him in surprise. "You don't understand. Ms Granger has lost memory of who she is."  
  
"I know what an amnesia entails," Severus replied gruffly. Just because he wasn't a Healer didn't mean he didn't have the foggiest. "What about her physical injuries?"  
  
"They-" Petersen began, shuffling around the few papers that lay in front of him on the white table top, "she has a sprained wrist, and a light concussion. A cracked rib. And a few scratches."  
  
The wizard looked at the Muggle doctor hard, in expectance of more to come. But when more didn't come, Severus asked: "That's it?"  
  
"She must have had a guardian angel," Petersen said; he was recovering his smile. "And the amnesia is only temporal. I'm confident that she remembers everything tomorrow night."  
  
Severus almost snorted. 'Temporal' was the right word. "Can I see her?"  
  
"Ah, yes," the Muggle doctor said, now smiling. "You can even leave. Just come tomorrow afternoon so I can have a look at Ms Granger."  
  
"Leave?"  
  
"Ja, take her home," Petersen nodded.  
  
Severus was relieved, but on the other hand he didn't quite trust the doctor's words. There must be something that caused Hermione's death. Or was this the end of it, the end of the loop? "Are you all right?" he was asked again.  
  
"Yes," Severus replied thoughtfully. "I was just afraid that what with the accident, Ms Granger's injuries would be more severe. Are you quite sure that it's just a concussion?"  
  
"A mild concussion," Petersen corrected. "Yes. There's no need to worry. Just don't let her do something difficult today, okay?"  
  
Petersen stood and lead Severus to the examination room where Hermione was waiting. She was fully dressed, sitting on the narrow examination couch. She was sporting several orange-stained plasters and her right wrist was bandaged. She had braided her hair into a thick plait, and she looked rather forlorn.  
  
"Ms Granger?" Petersen said.  
  
She looked up at them. When her eyes fell on Severus, he had the impression as if he could see her heart sink. Did he look that bad?  
  
"This is Mr Snape," the doctor said. "He brought you here. He is your teacher."  
  
"Mentor," Severus corrected.  
  
"Sorry. If you sign here you can leave," Petersen explained, indicating a dotted line on a clipboard with his biro.  
  
Severus scrawled his signature quickly on the document, and a minute later, Petersen was gone.  
  
"Well, Hermione, I think it's time to go," Severus said, offering her his arm.  
  
"But I don't know you," Hermione replied, not moving.  
  
"You can trust me," Severus said softly. "Despite my looks. I am your mentor. I've been helping you with your Master Thesis this past twelvemonth."  
  
"But why am I in a Muggle hospital?"  
  
Severus couldn't stop laughing out this time. It was a soft sound, but it was heartfelt, and full of relief. If that was the price, amnesia in lieu of death, then he was only too glad to pay it.  
  
"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, her temper threatening to flare. She had never liked being not taken serious, particularly when it concerned her intelligence; her formidable intelligence.  
  
"Nothing," Severus recovered. "My apologies. You asked me to take you here. But let's not talk about this now. I'm sure they need this room for other patients." He offered her his arm again, and this time she took it, sliding carefully off the couch's edge.  
  
"So I can trust you?"  
  
Severus nodded. "Yes. Yes, you can trust me."  
  
They left the casualty ward and turned right at the next corner to get to Diagon Alley. They walked in silence, Hermione still holding on to his arm as if it were her life line. He couldn't blame her. If she lost him, she would lose the one wizard who knew who she was.  
  
"What do I call you?" she eventually asked.  
  
"Severus," he replied. "Call me Severus."  
  
"And you are my mentor."  
  
Severus knew that he would have to be patient for the interview. It as quite inevitable, but he was confident that he wouldn't have to go into detail too deeply - they had only eight and a half hours to go -- if this wasn't the end of the time loop. He had a feeling that it wasn't, but what with the dramatic changes he couldn't be absolutely sure. "Yes," he replied. "I helped you with your Master Thesis. We were on our way to the hearing with the Potions Research Board at the Ministry to get you authorised as a teacher."  
  
"Gosh, that sounds impressive," Hermione replied.  
  
"It is, in fact, impressive," Severus said, trying with little success to sound matter-of-factly. He was quite proud of her achievements.  
  
They walked in silence for a while, making their way through a quiet and largely deserted park. Here at last they could talk without being disturbed and without having to watch out for the heavy London traffic.  
  
Hermione smiled. "That seems like you're not used to giving praise," she said, and added, "if you don't mind my saying so."  
  
"I'm not handing it out like sherbet lemons, if that's what you mean," he admitted. It was difficult to grasp that it was merely her memory that was gone; somehow, he had always thought that losing one's memory entailed losing one's character. Maybe he had just thought about Lockhart once too often.  
  
Her frankness surprised him, too, but he would have to keep in mind that she didn't remember him, either. To her, he was her mentor Snape who had accompanied her to a hearing and brought her to hospital after the accident. She didn't know him as a teacher anymore.  
  
"Well," he said to distract himself from his thoughts, "at least you know you're a witch. Is there anything else you recall?"  
  
"It's all very foggy, I'm afraid," Hermione mused.  
  
"Maybe some tea will help," Severus suggested. "It usually does help me to focus."  
  
Hermione beamed openly at him, and again, he was caught unawares by it. He wasn't used to having this kind of an effect on people. "That would be wonderful. That, and a sandwich. I'm famished."  
  
Rather than taking their lunch at the Leaky Cauldron or Florean Fortescue's, they stopped at the pavilion offering refreshments in the centre of the park. They sat outside at a small metal table with mismatched chairs, the chipped white surface dappled by the light filtering through the foliage above. Severus paid for their tea and sandwiches with some Muggle change he always had on him when going to London - one never knew what happened, and he would hate being helpless in the Muggle world.  
  
The sandwiches were homemade and looked delicious, but other than Hermione, Severus bit into his with a feeling of dread. And right he was, for the sandwich was absolutely bare of any taste whatsoever. He continued to eat, for it still held the nutrition he needed, but the joy of eating was gone.  
  
"Is it just me or are these sandwiches a tad bland?" Hermione asked, looking at hers sceptically.  
  
"It's us, Hermione," Severus said chagrined. Of course she would notice that fact, and he was still hoping she wouldn't ask about their situation. But he knew it was helpless; Hermione was far too clever for that.  
  
"What's wrong with us?"  
  
Instead of an answer, Severus asked her to have a look at the Time Turner she was carrying for Minerva. She looked surprised that he should know about it, but did as he asked without further ado. The envelope had been trapped between two books - her Master Thesis and Ginny Weasley's novel - and when she broke the seal, sand and tiny bits of the shattered hourglass trickled onto her open palm. Hermione looked at the broken Time Turner for a small eternity. Then she looked up again at Severus.  
  
"What's," she asked, her voice catching, "what's the effect of it?"  
  
"A time loop," he explained. "A time loop that has us relive this day again and again."  
  
"How long have we been in it?"  
  
"Five days. We use Ms Weasley's novel to keep track of the passage of time. I read a chapter to you every day."  
  
"Are all the days the same?" she wanted to know.  
  
Severus shook his head. "No, every one is a little bit different from the others. Today has been the most dramatic change so far." He sipped at the fluid that was tea, and told her what had happened so far. But he omitted to mention the ending of each loop. Maybe he was lucky and she wouldn't ask.  
  
She asked another difficult question, though. "How are we going to end the time loop?"  
  
"I don't know," he said, meeting her gaze openly, and unafraid. "I'm afraid I don't know." Then he put everything they knew about their situation in a nutshell. And added: "Our wishes - as long as they are not about ending this or about the food - are granted, in the next loop."  
  
"It sounds as if it were a treat for something we did. Or rather," she amended, "you did. I seem to be very passive."  
  
He hadn't commented on that, Severus realised when it was too late. Maybe she had made a point without noticing it. "That sounds interesting," he mused. "It goes together with the shortening of the time inside the loop - or at least our experience of it."  
  
"But what about the lack of taste?" Hermione quickly caught on to his train of thoughts, as always. He looked at her, something akin to relief flowing through him.  
  
Hermione smiled back.  
  
Had he been smiling?  
  
"Hm," he said, clearing his throat, "that is indeed strange. It robs us of the enjoyment of food. Of smell. But other than that ..."  
  
"As long as we don't have to brew a potion, that shouldn't be too bad," she said, yawning.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Tired. And my head hurts a bit," she said.  
  
"Maybe we should rest for a while," Severus suggested, trying in vain to shake off the heaviness that seemed to have settled rather suddenly in his limbs. He turned to look toward the other people who had made themselves comfortable on blankets in the grass - or what was left of it. It had been a rather hot summer, or so he'd heard. It was always comfortably cool up at Hogwarts.  
  
He bade her take the book out of her bag, and transfigured the bag into a blanket. They settled on it in the shade, Severus feeling awkward in his stocking feet. Hermione's feet were bare, and for a moment or two he kept staring at them. He liked their shape and rosy colour, their perfect, small size, and even the nail-varnish she had applied. He must have looked at them a moment too long, for she wriggled her toes.  
  
He wriggled his in response, in their woollen covering. "Shall we get on with keeping track of the time, then, or would you like to get some rest first?"  
  
She lay down, curling in on herself, wincing when she did something nasty to her tender ribcage. "I hope you don't mind when I fall asleep on you."  
  
"No one ever falls asleep on me," he said, appalled.  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, sitting up. She touched her forehead in the process, as if to support it or massage the pain away.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," she said, "you keep asking me that."  
  
"I forgot to take my potion," he replied dryly. Everything to distract her from that line of thinking. "Well then, Chapter Ten."  
  
She didn't fall asleep, but listened attentively, as if listening to him and concentrating on the words dulled the pain. An hour passed, and he put the book away.  
  
"I would have liked to hear more about the landscape," she offered. "And the High Priest is a scary person."  
  
"Indeed. We're lucky most if this chapter was expositional," he said.  
  
"Oh, I would have enjoyed it anyway," she replied. "You have a beautiful voice for reading. Now I know why no one ever falls asleep on you." There was an almost wicked twinkle in her eyes that he hadn't seen with her before. But then again, theirs was a professional relationship. And normally, she knew him. And he usually didn't encourage bantering.  
  
He smiled softly. It wasn't often that he was being given compliments. "My pleasure," he said, covering the white bandage of her wand hand with his.  
  
But she had already fallen asleep. She was lying on her side, and her chest was rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep's breath. He covered her bare feet with a corner of the blanket. It was not time yet, and he breathed in deeply. So far, death hadn't come to her before it was time, even when the loops grew shorter. They had a couple of hours left.  
  
He tipped his head back for the support of the trunk he was leaning against. Drowsiness was claiming him, too. He had gone without sleep far too long already - and he was used to little to no sleep for days at a time.  
  
Sensing movement at his side, the gentle draft of somebody moving near him, he snapped awake, disoriented for a second. Was this a new loop? Or still the old? Or had he just fallen asleep?  
  
Hermione knelt by his side, holding a small plastic bottle out for him. "Sorry I woke you," she said.  
  
He accepted the bottle, and took a long drink of the cold water. "Thank you." It was only then that he realised that he had only fallen asleep. As the last remains of the drowsiness lifted off his body, he felt refreshed.  
  
Having changed the blanket back into Hermione's bag, they continued on their way to Diagon Alley. A watchmaker had his shop there, and maybe he could help them. With what, exactly, or how, they didn't know, but maybe he could help them. Both of them had of course considered seeking help with the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries, but since they didn't have connections to the institution or the Unspeakables, it was hopeless to expect any help from them. They would have to tell some numbskull their story, but by the time anyone believed them and sent them on to the Unspeakables, the loop would be starting over again. It was a Sisyphean task. Worse than finding a solution on their own.  
  
Severus noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hermione looked thoughtful, as if an image was drifting into her consciousness, a memory, but it was gone before she could grasp it.  
  
"Why did you take me to a Muggle hospital?" she asked.  
  
"You asked me to," he replied.  
  
"But why would I ask such a thing?" she wondered, more to herself.  
  
"That's beyond me," Severus said, not entirely lying; he had not really understood her motivations, and he wasn't going to get tangled in that web. He was still loath to tell her about the ending of each loop.  
  
Hermione turned around. They were standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "I don't believe you."  
  
Severus shrugged, realising that if he wasn't careful, the situation could get out of hand. "You explained it to me, something about a second opinion."  
  
"A second opinion about what?" she pressed, scenting something was amiss. Truth to be told, Severus would have been disappointed had she not.  
  
"About your injuries. Look, can't we talk about this inside?" he asked. There were far too many people around this busy street corner for his taste. At least they could enter the closed-down looking wizarding pub undetected. The street was so busy that people only minded their own steps; as for their ears - better stay on the safe side. Some habits died hard.  
  
"What about my injuries?" Hermione wouldn't let go.  
  
"You've got a concussion, and we have to be careful," Severus explained, his resolution being tried.  
  
"We?" Hermione allowed him to ushering her through the busy pub and out into the backyard, where he opened a secret door by tapping the brick of the blackened wall with the confidence of frequent use. "What exactly is our relationship?"  
  
This made him whirl around. He would have liked to tell her that he didn't know, he wasn't sure because everything seemed to be changing, shifting towards something more personal, intimate even. And for a brief moment, a little voice in the back of his head asked him why he didn't. "I guess we are ... friends," he eventually said.  
  
She looked at him hard. "Is that what we are." It wasn't a question. In fact, it was pure sarcasm.  
  
He couldn't suppress a smile. Then he gestured for her to come with him to the watchmaker's, and guided her some of the way with his hand barely touching the small of her back. Diagon Alley was as busy as ever, and they made their way through the street undetected, for the crowds were inspecting the shop window displays and goods presented in front of the shops. The shop of the watchmaker was on a narrow street off Diagon Alley, and when they entered its shadows, Severus felt Hermione take a deep breath. The air was much cooler here, and it wasn't as noisy. He could have hexed himself. It would have been better not to take Hermione here, not with a concussion - even if it was supposedly a mild one.  
  
"That's it, over there," he said, steering her toward a simple but elegant looking red shop front. The door was open, but nobody was in. The shop was sparsely furnished, and the display cases that held watches and clocks of various make, age and purpose were not as overwhelmingly full as was the case in most of the other shops. For a watchmaker's, it was blissfully quiet in here, too; a silencing charm had been cast over the ticking and chiming and howling and crowing and what-not clocks.  
  
When the watchmaker entered, their eyes hadn't had time yet to adjust to the gloom. It was a young wizard, barely older than Hermione, and he wore a simple, white shirt and a kilt. "Good afternoon, Professor," he said, with a kind of friendly reserve that all his former pupils showed in his presence.  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr Thyme. The watchmaker isn't in, I suppose?"  
  
Thyme's palms came to rest on the shiny ebony countertop. "I am the watchmaker, sir."  
  
"Oh, well ..." Severus said, caught by surprise.  
  
"I've had a little accident," Hermione jumped in, smiling sweetly at Thyme. His features warmed visibly to her, Severus noted, a little to his dismay, even. Was he that bad? Did his teaching warrant this kind of ostracism even years after the pupils' N.E.W.T.s?  
  
"Sorry to hear that," Thyme said. "How can I be of service?"  
  
Hermione retrieved the envelope that held the broken Time Turner, and upended its contents on a small white tray Thyme managed to provide just in time. He examined the remains of the instrument, casting a spell to enlarge the bits and pieces. A huge tray of debris that looked like the twisted skeleton of an astrolabe popped up on the counter, and they had to step aside to be able to look at each other again.  
  
"A Time Turner," Thyme whispered. He quickly reduced the instrument to its original size.  
  
"I don't suppose you get to see many of those," Severus asked, his voice laced with only the tiniest hint of a sneer.  
  
"Yes, I do," Thyme replied. "But usually the Ministry contacts me directly."  
  
"Oh, but this Time Turner belongs to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione explained. "He asked me to take it to the Ministry."  
  
"I see." Thyme picked up the biggest bit. The metal frame, not unlike that surrounding a globe, was still fairly intact; it wasn't bent too much or broken. Only the tiny hourglass was irreparably damaged. "I can repair it, but I'm afraid that it will lose its magic." He put the framework down and looked at them. "Maybe Professor Dumbledore would like to keep it, since there's no harm in it any more."  
  
"That's why we actually came," Severus chimed in. "The harm's already done."  
  
Thyme looked at them, clearly expecting the worst. He gestured for them to go on.  
  
"We're trapped in a time loop."  
  
The watchmaker looked from one to the other and back. "Dear me. And you're both in it?"  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"That's strange, because normally - if you can call anything relating to time normal - or anyway, previously, we've only heard mostly of single persons or objects being trapped in a time loop."  
  
"Yes, we know," Severus cut in somewhat impatiently. He had read Oswald's book, after all. "But what does that mean? How do we get out of the loop?"  
  
"Forgive my impertinence, sir, but what exactly is your relationship with this young lady?" Thyme dared ask.  
  
Severus was annoyed by being asked that question again, rather than by its nature.  
  
"You see," Thyme continued, graciously letting his former teacher off the hook, "there have been cases when there was a strong emotional bond between the victims."  
  
Severus and Hermione exchanged startled looks. Of course, Hermione didn't know about any feelings she might have had for him, and he still wasn't sure how to label the feelings he had for her. They were there. There was no way around admitting to it. He had worked together with her during the past year, had even enjoyed her company and the interesting conversations they had had. And it pained him beyond description that she should day night after night in his arms.  
  
"Ah, well," Hermione managed. Without a second thought, she returned the remains of the Time Turner into the envelope.  
  
"And the release?" Severus asked with the courage born of desperation. This wizard was able and willing to help them, and Severus wouldn't let that one chance pass, not if he wanted to look himself in the eye again.  
  
Thyme shrugged. "That depends on the nature of your feelings."  
  
Adrenaline rushed through Severus' body. "That's it?"  
  
Thyme shrugged again.  
  
When they stepped outside into the dusty street, which was a step lower than the shop's polished hardwood floors, Hermione felt disoriented and grabbed Severus' arm for support. He looked at her, asking her without words if she was okay. "Maybe we should get you some rest," he suggested.  
  
"That would be great," Hermione said. She smiled at him weakly, as if through a veil of pain. Severus began to feel much surer about the suspicions that he had had ever since talking to Petersen, and Bones' reassurances. Hermione was suffering from a severe injury, very likely in the head, that was hard or even impossible to detect until it was too late.  
  
"We could get you back to the hospital for some pain relief," he said.  
  
"But the Apothecary is just-"  
  
"Hermione, you wanted to be treated by Muggle doctors, so I think it would be best to continue in this fashion," he reminded her with a not unkind sternness.  
  
Hermione sighed, and touched her forehead. "I guess it would, wouldn't it?"  
  
By the time they entered the casualty ward of the hospital, Severus had to carry Hermione. The pain was so overwhelmingly powerful that it turned her knees into jelly, and she had told him that her vision had become blurry. He Apparated them straight from the park where they had spent the afternoon to a secluded place near the hospital.  
  
Half an hour later, Severus found himself in a waiting room again. His suspicions had proven true: there was some hardly detectable haemorrhage. Those "doctors" - educated people by name - were operating on her now. Severus had insisted that they not do this, that Hermione didn't want it. But since he wasn't a relative, he had had no say and could do nothing, because Hermione hadn't been compos mentis any longer - or conscious, for that matter.  
  
He looked at his watch, a family heirloom his maternal grandfather had given him for his sorting ceremony. It was an old watch, but it kept perfect time, even inside this loop. They had three hours to go.  
  
He hadn't listened when the doctors explained what needed to be done; he preferred ignorance in this case, because the mere thought of all the bloodshed in the name of healing didn't agree with his wizarding background. So he turned his thoughts away from what happened behind that unfriendly pair of doors labelled "No access unless authorised"; he was still with Hermione. There had been no time to make sense of what Thyme had told him.  
  
Which was, frankly, not much and didn't sound very reliable either. At least now he knew why they were in this together. There was a strong emotional bond between them. And only its nature held the key to the end of the loop.  
  
What, in Merlin's name, did that mean?  
  
It sounded like one of the more obscure prophecies he'd heard.  
  
Unaware of how much time he had spent sitting there, brooding, he was startled back to presence by a friendly nurse. And a couple of minutes later, he could see Hermione - through a protective pane of glass. He was not allowed in.  
  
"But I am the only one she's got," he argued.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, it's for her sake," the nurse said in noncommittal compassion. Surely, she had to tell people this every day.  
  
And Severus had no more strength to fight her. The mental burden had become too much, and he felt exhausted, and utterly powerless and lost. In this Muggle hospital, he felt like a fish out of water, and now he wasn't even allowed to sit with Hermione.  
  
He sank heavily onto the white wooden bench facing the window. In this ... bed, with all those wires and hoses and whatnot intruding her body, all those machines blinking around her, Hermione was barely recognisable. He couldn't see her face for the thing that forced oxygen into her lungs, and her head was wrapped in thick layers of white disposable bandages.  
  
They had cut her beautiful hair off, he suddenly realised, shaved her like they would the witches in the Middle Ages.  
  
He dropped his head into his hands.  
  
He didn't notice the helper who made him sign yet another slip of paper in exchange for Hermione's belongings; her clothes, ruined as they had cut her out of them, her bag and her wand.  
  
He accepted the strange cup in which they offered him a scalding drink - tea? -, barely noticing who was holding it out for him.  
  
And again and again, he looked at his grandfather's watch.  
  
And he wished firmly that this was either the end of the loop, or that they be taken to Hogwarts' Hospital Wing.  
  
When it was nearly time, he got up to be physically closer to Hermione, irrational as that was with the pane between them. Severus had noticed that some blinking, beeping machine was visualising her heartbeat. The spiky green line was getting flatter by the minute. He was at his most powerless, and he closed his eyes as the line went flat.  
  



	7. Seven

Disclaimer: see One

Forward to Time Past

By Claudia

Seven

Severus took a deep breath, a very deep breath. Then he pulled out his old watch, and found that the loop had started yet another ninety minutes later again. The duration of the loop thus had been reduced by more than a third of its initial length. Severus was not sure what to make of that, whether to be very worried or merely curious to find out how it would end; the thought of the loop ending on its own was too tempting to deserve serious consideration.

He raised his head to see where his wishes had taken him this time, and he was surprised to find himself in Ward Eight again.

"I wished us here," Hermione said. She was sitting up in her bed, left leg heavily bandaged. Her bushy hair framed her face in all its frizzy glory, as though nothing had happened; which was, partly at least, true. Severus smiled in relief. An overwhelming desire to hug her suddenly took hold of him, and it was all he could do not to act on the impulse and enclose her in his arms.

"Hogwarts would have been just as well," he offered, sitting down on the chair by her bed. His gaze travelled the length of white bandage that was wrapped around her leg. Her toes were exposed, and again he felt an urge, a need, the desire, to kiss every single one of them. Quickly, he fixed his eyes on hers.

"Thanks for taking me to the Muggle hospital," she said.

He nodded. It was still beyond him why it meant so much to her, and he had never been good at accepting thanks. Thanks had always been so tainted by the feeling of duty and obligation, by the sense of having to pay Dumbledore back, as though he could just do something to genuinely please someone, to do them a favour that was meaningful on a personal basis only – a favour that didn't encompass the good of the wizarding world. But her gratefulness somehow made the horror of the last hours worthwhile, to a certain degree at least.

Eventually, he noticed her expectant gaze. "It is as we guessed," he replied, "it's bleeding in your head that … ends a loop. It goes undetected until it's too late. There's nothing anyone can do. I'm sorry."

Hermione swallowed and looked out of the window. The day was as glorious as ever, and suddenly Severus realised how trapped, caged in, she must feel. He wished there was something, anything, he could do to release her from this temporal prison.

"Kiss me," she said, waking him from his reverie.

"I beg your pardon?" He must have sounded positively appalled.

"True Love's First Kiss. That's what's going to release us. I am certain," Hermione offered by way of explanation. She met his gaze evenly, calmly.

Severus was still as dumbfounded as he had been when she first suggested the kiss. Sweet Merlin, he couldn't kiss her! He was her mentor, he couldn't do it. Never. That was a kind of betrayal he could never bring himself to commit. Theirs was a relationship founded on trust, and on education. Any kind of relationship that went beyond being friends went beyond all the boundaries he had set for himself. Never would he dream of abusing a pupil's trust like that. Clearly, it was pure despair talking.

"First you lose your memory, now you lose your mind," he sneered.

Tears shot almost instantaneously into her eyes, they made them swim without spilling over. She stiffened a little and sat up straighter. "No," she said, not defiantly, dejectedly rather. "I have lost my heart. And now I have lost hope." And still she had the strength to look him squarely in the face.

He couldn't.

He whirled around on his heel and left the ward, billowing robes and all.

Severus Snape ran away.

Shame made him hot, and he could feel it sting his cheeks, how the skin suddenly seemed to being pulled taut over his cheekbones. He wished he could go back and change this ugly scene, but he knew that waiting for the loop to start over wouldn't do, because this was something Hermione would remember until the end of her days. For how many there would be.

He ran his fist into the wall. It was solid brick, whitewashed. The white skin of his knuckles was bruised and broken, and so probably were some of the bones, but as the pain pulsed through him angrily with the delay of mild shock he found that his outburst hadn't accomplished anything. He cradled his battered hand in his good one, managing to do so without hissing. He wasn't sure if the crunching sound was just something he had imagined.

"Sir?"

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't connect it to a face or a name. And he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it, just like the sound of bones breaking.

"Sir?"

It was the tone. Apprehensive.

"Longbottom," he said as he turned around.

The podgy boy of yore had changed into a man, had outgrown his childish features and changed into a good-looking, if not handsome, man. He responded to his words with an apologetic shrug. "Are you all right?"

For an instant, Severus was tempted to treat the man like he would the boy, but something made him suddenly appreciate Longbottom's company. He used to be Hermione's friend. If Severus couldn't go back to Hermione, then maybe it would do his karma good to turn to her friends.

Severus took a deep breath. "No, I'm not," he said in a neutral tone.

"Then let me take you to the casualty ward. Your hand doesn't look to good," Longbottom offered.

"How are your parents?" Severus asked, once underway.

"Fine, thanks," Longbottom replied, surprised. "Mad as ever."

Severus stopped. "I mean it, Mr Longbottom. What happened to Frank and Alice is among the worst things I have seen in my life."

Longbottom stood unmoving, clearly unsure whether he could trust his ears. Eventually, he turned around. "Thanks."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Mr Longbottom," Severus replied calmly.

In the casualty ward, a trainee Healer took care of Severus' hand. A few bones were broken, indeed, and two and a half spoonfuls of Skele-Gro later, they found themselves standing outside the casualty ward.

"Better?" Longbottom asked for lack of anything else to say, and to break the uncomfortable silence.

Severus looked at him long and hard. Here again presented itself the opportunity to talk about this madness. He was just not sure if Longbottom was indeed the right person to talk to, but he knew Hermione quite well – or at least that was an impression Severus had – and since he would have to explain his dilemma anew no matter who he talked to …

"The hand is better," Severus said, although it felt still on fire with Skele-Gro at work.

"I know this sounds weird, but," he began, "would you care for a drink?" The man's sensitivity was astounding, particularly towards him.

"How long have you got?" Severus asked.

So it happened that Severus ended up telling a former pupil the story of his life in this vicious circle. A pupil who hadn't ostracised him, despite everything. They were sitting in the visitors' tearoom, nursing their drinks, and the more Severus told him, the better he felt, just for being able to share it. It didn't matter to him, in that moment, if Longbottom believed him. It only mattered that he trusted him.

"It's like the teacup in the Time Room," Neville eventually said.

"Pardon?"

"When we were in the Department of Mysteries, you know, the day Sirius Black died."

"What about the cup?" Sirius Black was definitely a topic Severus didn't want to get into.

"It will never stop shattering itself to pieces, just to repair itself and shatter again," Longbottom explained. "It's not very helpful, but that's what comes to mind."

"It isn't," Severus said, finishing his tea.

A silence ensued, not entirely comfortable, tense rather with something Severus hadn't mentioned yet. Trust Longbottom to sense it. "But there's more."

"Isn't there always?" Severus replied sadly. "It's never simple and easy."

"I guess it isn't," Longbottom mused, but he had the grace not to press him any further. "If it's any help, just trust yourself." He looked at his watch surreptitiously. "Well, I'm afraid I've got be going. It was nice to see you."

Severus, who had been glancing at the dregs in his cup, looked up to meet the young man's eyes. "My pleasure. Say hello to your parents."

Longbottom nodded, and was gone.

Just trust yourself.

What would a witch like Hermione want with a wizard like him? He realised it was a question only Hermione could answer, but it wasn't a question she could answer now. He had walked out on her, had disappointed her – broken her heart. It was unforgivable, the Fourth Unforgivable if you wanted, and if she ever had an answer she would not have one anymore now.

Just trust yourself.

He loved her. It was that easy.

But did he love her for who she was, or just because she did love him? It was that difficult.

Severus pushed back his chair rather violently, almost knocking it over. In order to have this question answered, he needed to do some research. True Love's First Kiss was powerful magic, but ancient, and it wasn't exactly the most conventional approach to any problem you might have. With the advent of more complicated, difficult magic, this most ancient form of magic had lost in regard, if not in power. It was an awe-inspiring, earthy kind of magic, essential to the world and yet many were oblivious to it. Maybe except those newly in love, and artists.

What he needed was a library. In some of the old grimoires, or maybe even in a collection of fairytales should be something he could use. An instant later, he was standing in the cool, lofty marble hall that opened on the King's Library in the new building of the British Library. He had never much liked the thought of the Wizarding Section moving together with the Muggle collection, but considering the need to travel if you needed to consult with a Muggle book, it was probably the best. Banners were advertising one of the temporary exhibitions, and presently, quite a few people were assembling in the entrance hall for a guided tour or some event or other.

Severus swept past them, hurried up the steps and when he was sure that nobody was looking, he entered the Wizarding Section. It still looked the same. When the library moved, it had moved as it was, dust-motes, comfy chairs, candle stubs and all. Even the smell was the same. "But the security is better. When we put up the wards, we could do without quite a few of the old ones, you know," one of the staff had explained to him at his first visit in the new home.

But that had been years ago. Severus stepped up to the librarian's desk.

The middle-aged witch behind the counter was friendly and looked at him through the dirty glasses of a lorgnette. "How can I help you?"

"I've been wondering if there are any publications on True Love's First Kiss," Severus said.

The witch's brow furrowed. "Tricky," she said. And then added with a smile, "but I'll see what I can do for you, sir. Please, have a seat." She gestured at a group of comfy chairs that had been arranged around a low table stacked with magazines. Severus looked at it sceptically. He had spent quite many an hour waiting already, and time was running out.

"How long do you think it will take you to find something?"

The witch looked up from behind the card index. "Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes and no," Severus replied truthfully. He did have time and yet he didn't. Who knew what would happen once the duration of the loops had shortened to mere seconds?

"True Love's First Kiss is probably the most powerful spell to release people from the clutches of the Dark Arts."

He looked at her hard. "I am aware of that."

The witch smiled at him. "Yes. So don't waste your time looking it up. If you don't mind me saying so."

The librarian was right. Little was known about time loops or temporal accidents. Without doubt he would find hardly anything – if anything at all – about its effect on Time. Oswald would have mentioned it in his book if he knew, and Thyme –

Thyme was the one to send him on this quest, to impress Hermione so much. If anyone knew, then it was him.

"Thank you, madam, but I won't need this," he said, returning the slip of paper to her.

She just smiled secretively and nodded at him.

Half an hour later, he was back in Thyme's shop. Again, the shop was as empty and quiet as it had been at his first visit. Severus waited patiently for Thyme to arrive, as he was sure there was some kind of spell that alerted the shop owner about a customer's arrival.

He didn't have to wait long. An instant later, a witch appeared. A rather small witch. She wasn't older than four or five years, and was wearing a big man's dinner jacket, a girlish pink dress with printed flowers and no shoes. Her ashen hair was combed into two pigtails that stuck out from her head. "I'm Pippi Longstockings."

Severus looked at her askance.

"From the book?" the girl supplied, looking up at him full of hope.

"Ah, from the book." Severus had no idea what she was talking about. "What's your name?"

The girl cast him a strange glance. "Pippa," she said, her patience waning. "What's yours?"

"Severus Snape."

Pippa kept staring at him, unmoving.

"So, Pippa," he began eventually, unnerved by the staring contest. He was never any good at them, least of all when a certain tabby cat was involved. "I'm looking for Mr Thyme."

"He's my dad," the girl said proudly.

"And where is your dad, Pippa?" If he'd been around in the previous loop, he surely must be here now, too. Just as Longbottom and Lockhart. He just didn't meet them.

Pippa shrugged. "Gone out?" she offered, wanting him to jog his memory for her.

Severus inhaled deeply. Small children were even more difficult to handle than first-years. "Did he say when he'd be back?"

The girl shook her head vigorously, making her thin pigtails fly and whip her head. She seemed to enjoy the movement, though.

"Do you mind if I wait for him?"

"No."

Silence.

"But don't steal anything," she added with index finger raised.

"Pippa!"

The male voice made both turn towards the door, through which Thyme was entering his shop. "I'm sorry if she bothered her, Professor," he said, then he sent Pippa into the backyard. "What can I do for you?"

"You recognise me?" Severus asked in surprise.

"Unless you're talking about Hogwarts," Thyme said, "I assume you've been here before."

Severus quickly explained his dilemma. "You are the one who first brought up the whole True Love's First Kiss concept. I was hoping you could enlighten me a little bit more in that regard."

"I would love to, Professor," Thyme replied thoughtfully, "but I'm rather busy at the moment. Can it wait an hour or so?"

Severus looked at his watch. He could spare an hour or so, but not more. He had to be back at the hospital, to be with Hermione. "I've got one question, though."

With a gesture, Thyme encouraged him to ask.

"Do you think that True Love's First Kiss will release us from the loop?"

"It's very powerful magic. I can only advise you to try," Thyme replied slowly. "Sorry."

Severus studied his fingers against the backdrop of the polished countertop. Then he raised his head. "You've helped us a lot."

Thyme nodded. Having nothing else to say, Severus turned around and left the watchmaker's. He knew all he needed to know now, so there was no point in wasting one more hour of waiting for another solution that might even not exist.

But now that he had solved this problem, verified that a kiss would most likely release them from the loop, he had another problem. After what had happened earlier this day, Severus doubted that Hermione would allow him to kiss her. And even if she did, it all depended on the nature of their feelings when they kissed. Indifference wouldn't take them anywhere, or anger even. This kiss must be filled with love. True love. The desire just to leave the loop wouldn't be good enough for whatever powers were at play here to grant them their wish.

Anyway, he hadn't read her Chapter Eleven yet.

Severus quickened his steps, but he still felt the need to walk back to St Mungo's rather than Apparate there.

"I have lost my heart. And now I have lost hope."

Those were Hermione's last words. He, too, had lost his heart, but in his shock that she returned his feelings, had fallen in love him, he had done the Unspeakable. It made him numb with self-loathing and hopelessness.

And suddenly he found himself standing in front of the door of Ward Eight. He drew in a deep breath and entered. The last time he had felt so bad about meeting someone was when he had returned to Dumbledore. In a way, Hermione was a little bit like Dumbledore, idealist that she was, with a similar, if weaker power of conviction, and feeling of justice. Know-it-all.

He knocked and entered. Hermione was alone, and she appeared to be asleep. Sebekhotep's Book lay open on her chest and moved gently with the regular rise and fall of her breath. He drew up the chair from the table in the corner and sat. He withdrew the book from between her fingers and examined the pages. Browsing a little, he found that she had read at least three pages into Chapter Eleven.

Warmth filled him with an unknown tingly feeling that left him strangely light-headed. She had kept up with their calendar, eve when he wasn't there. It was, of course, the wisest thing to do, and he wouldn't have expected any less from her. It was normal, self-evident. He had nothing to do with it. And yet this gesture touched him so. He kept staring at the pages.

"You're back."

"Of course I am," he replied, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. Now that they were open, he noticed the lack of lustre in them, as if something had died inside her. His hopes fell, nothing remained of the warmth that had just rushed through him.

"Why?"

He closed the book, and studied the cover for a long time. Why did he always need so much courage to tell people how he felt about them? "I'm sorry," he began, "utterly sorry for what I've said. I just wanted you to know that."

Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position. She grimaced at the movement, and was relieved to be able to sink back into the cushions that Severus had managed to arrange behind her back. "So?" she prompted him.

"So, here I am, Potions Master and Old Git."

Hermione managed a smile. "I'd always hoped you'd never heard that."

"You weren't the first to call me that," Severus admitted, "nor the last."

"What do you want?" she asked sharply. "A dying witch's pity?"

"No," he replied. "I've made a mistake."

Hermione made a face.

"Forgive me, Hermione."

The coldness in her eyes made him shrink away inwardly. He had never seen this expression in her eyes before, and again he wondered what kind of a man he was to inspire it in a witch like Hermione.

"I can't," she began, and then touched his arm, "unless you forgive yourself first." The ice in her eyes was gone. She knew exactly what she was asking of him, and it had made her anger redundant.

"I love you, Hermione." The words had left his heart before he even knew he could actually say them aloud.

Severus felt all his resolve melt away with every moment of silence that passed. He suddenly felt very old, and tired. All he wanted was simply cease to exist that very instant, just close his eyes and surrender to oblivion. So old, and so tired.

He woke in a comfortable armchair, a blanket thrown over him. Disorientated at first, he had no idea what had happened, or what time it was. He started. What time was it?

Severus was on his feet again and by Hermione's side without even looking at his watch. It couldn't be too late, it simply couldn't.

But her eyes were dying when he made her focus on him. She smiled at him, if to console him or from relief, he never knew. He just promised himself, as he grasped her hand, that this would be the last time he would have to see her die.


	8. Eight

AN: I know it's been ages since my last update. I started a new job last September, and since then I have been accommodating to my new responsibilities and tasks. In the process, I've never been really inspired to write, but as things return to normal now I feel I've been missing out on a lot. 

A special thank-you to all who sent feedback, letting me know that there are a few of you out there who actually like the story enough to want to see an ending.

As a special way of saying thank you for your patience I have included a little something at the end of this chapter.

Disclaimer: see One

Forward to Time Past By Claudia

Eight

Six hours of the loop had already passed when Severus came to. He knew without having to look at his watch. In a way it was comforting to know that this was so, it was the one thing he could rely on; besides the obvious, of course.

He opened his eyes. The light was different, brighter and clearer than what to him had become normal in the past week. A week of loops, a week of reliving the same horrible day over and over again. Some, of course, were not so horrible - particularly if for the ending.

There was only one place that enjoyed such radiant sunshine: Hogwarts. Even his rooms benefited from it, although he had chosen them with windows facing north. But he wasn't in his rooms.

This was the Hospital Wing, and for the first time in a week - if you could call a week consisting of Tuesdays a week, that is - Severus felt that this time their choice had been a good one. But what with the events of the previous loop he wasn't quite so convinced anymore that this loop meant the end of their exile in time.

It was his fault of course, and his fault alone.

And for once he wished for the start of every new loop to erase their memories.

"Severus?"

He turned to face Poppy, and smiled inwardly, a sigh of relief.

"I don't know what happened," Poppy began, taking the Potions Master's silence as encouragement to do so. "But I'm I great fear of Ms Granger's life."

Severus was almost overwhelmed by the tiredness that suddenly took hold of his body and mind, just as though Poppy's carefully chosen words had wiped out the hope that had started to awaken inside him. "I know Poppy," and he hoped he wasn't sounding as old as he suddenly felt, "she won't live to see the night."

Poppy paled with shock. She knew him well enough to trust his words, years of working with him had taught her to listen to him in matters like these. "Are you quite sure?" she asked despite herself. When he didn't provide an answer, she pressed on: "How can you be so sure?"

"I saw her die, Poppy," he said at last, not caring if his voice sounded tired. "She died in my arms, and I had to sit by and I couldn't do anything."

Poppy sat heavily on the nearby bed. Severus settled on the adjacent bed, which was also unoccupied, and began to tell her everything he knew, including the possible way out of the loop. Once again, it felt good to be able to relieve himself of this burden. Normally, he wasn't the type to confide in people easily, only a few select people enjoyed this kind of trust - quite understandably, too - but Poppy was one who had always been close to him. She had saved his life on what seemed to him countless occasions, and he had never wanted to add to her burden. But this was Hermione, after all, in her days one of the more popular students, and if he wanted to help her properly, he couldn't spare Poppy the sorrow.

"Severus, I'm so sorry," she said once he had finished.

"Poppy, I don't need your sympathy," Severus replied, although his words were lacking the usual sting, "Hermione needs you, and I'd like to make sure that she isn't in pain any more than necessary. She wants to remain conscious."

A smile flickered on her lips. "Of course she would." She remembered the time when Hermione had been petrified by the Basilisk's reflection very well. "But from what you've told me - and the impression I get of you - I'd rather she lost consciousness. It would do her good."

"Where do I come into this?"

"You need sleep. Badly."

"But-"

"No," the Healer said firmly, not unkindly, though, "I can wake you as soon as ... well, you know." Despite herself, Poppy was more shaken by this than she wanted to admit.

Severus sighed. He knew that Hermione was in good hands. And he knew that he had to delegate more. "Where do I sleep?"

Poppy, who clearly had been thinking of his own bed, smiled at the battle won so easily. "You can have the bed next hers. I've put her into a more private room, just in case. Quidditch practice, you know."

"I appreciate that, Poppy."

--

But before Severus couldn't go to Hermione he went to the gargoyle guarding the revolving staircase to McGonagall's office. He didn't feel ready to meet Hermione just yet, but the serenity of his room was even less appealing. When he entered the rotund office, Minerva was correcting parchments, essays on Transfigurations, most likely. Upon taking over Dumbledore's duties as the new Head Mistress, Minerva had not given up teaching for good, "To keep that feeling of knowing the students," she'd said, "for I don't have any of Dumbledore's abilities." So she taught only one class, changing years at the beginning of September. This year, she was teaching sixth years. None too bright either, as even she admitted. Henrietta Tumsole, a former Ravenclaw, was teaching all the others who had either chosen Transfigurations for the N.E.W.T.s or all those for whom the subject was mandatory - the rest of school.

"Severus," she greeted him, the 'r' in his name rolling over the tip of her tongue. "I didn't expect you back quite so soon. Did everything go all right? I was under the impression that you and Ms Granger would celebrate."

She had said exactly the same when he had come to her in an earlier loop.

"There has been an accident, Minerva."

She gestured for him to sit and offered him some of Ogden's in a simple tumbler. "Not Hermione?"

Severus only looked at her. "She's with Poppy," he said, his voice muted as he spoke into the glass.

"What happened?" she asked with some urgency.

And again, Severus told her his story. This time, however, he didn't spare her the ending. "She's not going to live, Minerva. At least not when I'm wrong."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite following," she said, elbows propped on her knees, leaning forward.

"Neither am I," Oswald chimed in.

Until then, Severus had ignored the portraits. "True Love's First Kiss is what I think the only power to end this."

"Are you telling me ...," Minerva interrupted herself. "Are you in love with her?"

He looked at her and nodded. "Yes, I am."

Minerva smiled and squeezed his right hand.

"You knew."

"She has a gift of herself, she has," Oswald commented. "Why, this is of course quite an interesting development for Chronologists like me."

--

Although the Hospital Wing's beds weren't any different from those in St Mungo's, Severus felt that Hermione wasn't as much out of place as in Ward Eight. When he entered the private room, she was awake. Neither of them said anything for while.

"Well?" Even on her deathbed, Severus noted wryly, she was as bossy as ever. And he wondered where the smile came from that wanted to be seen.

"You told me to forgive myself," he replied as though their conversation had never been interrupted, as though he had just left the room for a minute or two. He took off his heavy frock coat, and draped it neatly on a chair at the far wall.

"You do realise that that isn't something to be accomplished easily," he continued.

"I do," she replied. It had taken Potter years to forgive himself for what had happened that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries.

"I promise to try."

Hermione nodded.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

"Shall I read you some more of _Sebekhotep's Book_?"

"I'd like that," Hermione said. "Would you ask Poppy for some potion first, please?" It was only that he noticed that her brow was glistening, and that her complexion looked everything but healthy.

"Hermione," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed, "I'm afraid Poppy would rather your body took care of itself."

Strangely enough, Hermione nodded in agreement. "Yes, I thought she would." She forced a smile, "I can't promise to be a very attentive audience, though."

Severus met her glassy gaze steadily. It was now or never. This was the moment to end it - or go on like this until never-never day.

He bent, pushing his hand into the mass of hairy frizziness on the pillow to support her head, and pulled her gently towards him. Their faces only inches apart he stopped to look at her, to see whether she approved. The darkness of her irises her paled beneath a glassy sheen of pain, but there was something urgent in them.

He lowered his lips onto hers and kissed her, gently at first, as fearing the gentle touch would break her. When he felt the yielding softness, he deepened the kiss, and while losing himself inside her, he willed whatever power responsible for this to feel that he loved this young woman.

Hermione groaned, and he felt her go limp in his arms. It woke him from the power of this kiss.

"Too much, Severus," Hermione said weakly.

He had let down his guard, opened his thoughts completely, surrendering to Legilimency. Had Hermione managed, despite everything, to keep up her guards?

Almost in shock, he lowered her back onto the pillow. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry."

"No," she whispered. "I love you, too."

When she closed her eyes then, Severus knew that she would never open them again in this loop.

He kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her, uncaring whether the arm he draped across her centre would cause any more damage to her battered body. There was nothing anyone could do now.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

Here's part of the story I had to take out when I realised that the characters were running away with me. However, I didn't quite want to send the excerpt into textual Nirvana, so here goes a scene from chapter six: "Meeting Luna Lovegood".

This scene had to go because it complicated rather than furthered the plot. It did nothing to help solve the riddle, only provoked more questions. And it's an excellent example for characters running away with your story. But I think it would be a pity to just throw it away.

They walked on in silence, until suddenly -

"Luna!"

"Pardon?"

"Luna Lovegood. If anyone's got a theory about weird stuff, it's her. And she would even listen to us," she said excitedly.

"So you remember her?" Severus asked, almost as excitedly. But he was better trained at containing himself.

Hermione met his inquisitive gaze wide-eyed. "Yes." The wonder in her voice was aching.

"Do you remember anything else?" Severus had stopped walking, and moved to stand in front of her. It was all he could do not to grab her by the arms.

She looked at him, met his dark gaze evenly. "No."

He felt his shoulders sag a bit. "Well, then let's find her. She's with The Quibbler, isn't she?"

Even though it was only Lovegood she remembered - like a genial stroke of inspiration - they suddenly had two chances to find out more. Three, if you counted the vendors, peddlers and Knockturn Alley. And it felt like grasping at straws.

Which, in the end, it was. The vendors and peddlers wouldn't talk to them unless it was business. The watchmaker, xy, had been very helpful once he realised what they were talking about. He left the immaculately clean, unusually Spartan shop in the good care of his wife to talk to them in the seclusion of his not-so posh back room. But ultimately he hadn't been able to help them.

Lovegood was as dreamy as she had been as a girl, but Severus knew this to be deceptive. He saw that Lovegood's air of mystery was trying Hermione's patience, who was a very down-to-earth witch.

"Fascinating," Lovegood said with mild interest. They had found her office easily enough and had been admitted without further ado. No wonder they published the stuff they did when every blundering fool was granted a hearing. Merlin only knew why she was a Ravenclaw.

"And on top of that, you don't remember a thing?" she asked Hermione.

"Only your name and ... occupation," Hermione replied patiently.

"And only this loop," Severus added, "but I don't think that's of any importance right now."

"Maybe," Lovegood mused, sounding more thoughtful, actually involved, now. "I understand you'd need to know anything about time loops and Time Turners as soon as possible?"

"Quite, yes," Hermione agreed, mollified now that she sensed help being on its way.

"I haven't given the matter a thought, but I know we had a piece or two on it," she said, more to herself than to her visitors. She swished he wand briefly, probably thinking hard of what she had in mind, and nothing happened. "It'll take a while," Lovegood offered. "Not easy sorting my thoughts. Tea, anyone?"

Eventually, a couple of loudly coloured and boisterously patterned files appeared on Lovegood's desk out of thin air. She skimmed through them, put one or the other aside, and handed them the rest of the stack: two files. She looked at them expectantly with her protuberant eyes.

One file contained a reading list and some incoherent and rather unintelligible notes - an idea for an article. A rough, a very rough sketch, was on the back of one of the sheets. It was a hummingbird trapped in a bell jar, and depicted were the stages of its life, in a circle. And a tea cup that kept falling off a board over and over again. And a fully grown wizard - a Death Eater, as a note in the margin said -- whose head was shrinking to the size of a baby and growing back to its mature size, also over and over again. "Oh, that was when we were in the Time Room. I never got past taking those preliminary notes."

Hermione looked at her puzzled.

"Ah, of course," Lovegood said. "Sorry."

Severus just raised an eyebrow at that. Then he looked at the other file. It was a short piece on Time-Turners, and musings on the side effects it had on wizarding folk. It mentioned a time loop only briefly, and didn't disclose anything they didn't already know.

"Thank you for your time, Ms Lovegood, but I'm afraid this isn't what we're looking for," Severus said, closing the file and putting it on top of a pile of papers in front of him.

Lovegood only shrugged. "Maybe you could come once you've broken the loop. It'll make a fantastic story."

"Yes," Severus replied dismissively.

The crowds in the street were nearly overwhelming after the quiet of Lovegood's dusty office, and for a moment, Hermione felt disoriented and grabbed Severus' arm for support. He looked at her, asking her without words if she was okay.

Hermione nodded. "At least she won't write about it," she said, trying to sound light-hearted.

Severus saw the false strength behind it, and wondered if he should take her to St Mungo's or to Fortescue's for a drink.

"She looked surprised to see you," Hermione was babbling on. "Us, together."

"Well," Severus said, peeking at his watch, "there is a lot you don't remember about me." They were starting to run out of time. Already the streets were getting less crowded as people went home to their families and dinner tables. But where were they to go?

"Are you sure," Hermione asked, her words sounding laboured again, "you're just my mentor?"

This is it.


	9. Nine

Disclaimer: see One 

AN: So I finally managed to finish the story in time for the Grand Finale. My deepest apologies to all those of you who've been waiting for the conclusion for longer than I would dare ask. RL has had me in its firm grip; the wish to write has been with me all this time, but at the end of the day I guess I was just too tired to come up with a decent ending. Thank you for all your support.

Forward to Time Past by Claudia

Nine

It was night when she woke. Or rather, came to. She wasn't quite awake, it was more like the semi-consciousness you're in just before you wake -- when you notice, from beneath heavy lids that it's dawning outside already but you won't acknowledge the fact to get that extra minute.

Hermione thought she'd need an extra day at least. Her body felt numb, and it took some time until her mind was clear enough to even realise that. This was a completely new sensation. She couldn't remember a time when her body had not been on fire with pain. Reliable in its constancy, searing, glaring white, painful even behind the closed lids of her eyes.

Now there was nothing. Numbness counted for nothing, because it meant you felt nothing. No fire eating you up from the inside, no dull throb that pulsed with your blood. Just nothing, and a heaviness that settles on you when you're exhausted but happy.

This was what it was like not to be in pain.

There was another feeling, too, a tugging sensation around her midriff. The left hand side, to be more precise. A rumbling issued when she touched the area with her right hand. She was hungry.

That, she supposed, was a good sign.

"Hermione?"

The voice sounded very familiar, even though for the moment she felt unable to attach it to a equally familiar face. The voice, she remembered now, had embodied many people, men and women alike, as well as a strangely genderless voice that filled in the information in between the dialogues.

The weight of a warm palm settled gently on her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here," she replied.

Again, the voice called her name. It still sounded strange, disembodied. The palm on her shoulder became more insistent, its weight pressing down on her.

"I'm here, I'm here."

She couldn't know that all that escaped her was an unintelligible moan that sounded rather painful and disoriented.

"Hermione!" The voice was very insistent. Harsh, even.

"Snape!"

The name exploded from her lips.

"Yes! Yes, I"m here," replied the voice -- Snape -- gentle once again. "Hermione."

Her eyelids fluttered open. It took her eyes a while to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. The weight of the palm on her shoulder was gone, as was its owner. His scent had filled her nostrils just until a moment ago. It had felt so real. But then dreams did that sometimes. They had the uncanny power to appear indistinguishable from reality. She sighed, and got up.

Snape of all people it had to be. She got up and went through her daily preparations.

The day dawned bright and filled with cheerful birdsong. The York air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, a reminder of the night's thunderstorm. The sun glistened on the black, patched pavement down in the street, and was reflected by the drops that still clung to every leave and petal. The sky was a clear blue, and even the city's air seemed cleansed, less dusty than it had been the previous evening.

Hermione inhaled all this deeply as she stood by the open window, cradling yet another mug of tea. Today was≈

The realisation washed over her powerfully. Today, yesterday, the days before, they all seemed to run into each other like a very wet watercolour painting. Their colours swirled and bled out in the margins, spoiling that which was already there. That was where the pain was coming from; it had something to do with the previous days--

But hadn't she spent them working on her Master's Thesis, adding the last finishing touches to it? Today was the day that it was due to hand in at the Potions Research Board at the Ministry.

This had all happened before.

And she was quite positive that she wasn't experiencing a particularly powerful bout of déjà vu. It had all happened before.

"Severus," she whispered. He had been there after all. It had been his voice she'd been hearing all that time, reading to her, impersonating all those characters in the book. And all the time she had lain dying, time and time and time again.

How often had the loop repeated itself?

The Time Turner!

Quickly, she went to her desk, where her bookbag was sitting on the chair in front of it, and pulled out the envelope that held the device. She pulled it out by its rather sturdy chain. The pendant, however, the actual Time Turner, was a fragile looking thing. How irresponsibly stupid of her to keep it in the envelope McGonagall had given her. Hermione found her small jewellery box and emptied a bracelet from its small plastic box -- a present of her parents' -- into one of the bigger box's compartments. The plastic thing, lined with cotton wool, would hold the Time Turner safely until she could return it to the Ministry.

That task fulfilled, and her Master Thesis in hand, Hermione stepped out of the phone box into the not quite so fresh London mid-morning air. Snape was close behind her. She didn't have to turn around to notice him. Knowing him to have been by her side all that time had taught her to feel his presence rather than reassure herself of it by looking at him.

She took his hand in hers. "I guess you remember the letter I want to have you." She turned towards him and looked at him.

"How could I ever forget that," he replied neutrally. His face, too, was a cool, even mask that did nothing to betray his true feelings. "I once thought that after all that I had done, I deserved a thousand deaths. Now, after witnessing it before my very eyes, I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

With anyone else, Hermione would have felt compelled to apologise for whatever had happened, but with Snape it was different. "Thank you, Severus. For everything."

The tell-tale signs of a smile appeared on his features. "It's over now, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not." She held up her diploma.

"It's only just begun."

He tugged at her hand, and pulled it up to his chest to rest there.

---

end


End file.
